


Rise of the Mutants, Part I

by KaiserKris



Series: Rise of the Mutants [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Betsy Braddock International Woman of Mystery, Bobby Is An Idiot, BroHo, Drug Use, Erik is a Dick, Erik makes dramatic speeches, Everybody Needs Hugs, F/F, F/M, Kitty Can't Deal, Kitty and Bobby are adorbs, Kurt Angsts, Love Triangles, Mood Whiplash, Pietro Needs a hug, Pietro Pottymouth, Poor Life Choices, Rogue is a closet nerd, Rogue's Life Sucks, Scott's Luck Sucks, Wanda And Jean Totally Get High, Weird Shipping, shameless angst, telepathy is scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 119,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserKris/pseuds/KaiserKris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the 21st century entered its second decade, the world awakened to the existence of mutants. Thousands or even millions of individuals with superhuman powers. </p><p>The heart and soul of the issue, for various reasons, seemed to swirl around a boarding school in upstate New York, run by Professor Charles Xavier, one of the codiscoverers of the x-factor and his good friend, Professor Erik Lehnsherr, a famous physicist. The goal was a simple one, to provide a safe place for mutants to learn about themselves and each other. </p><p>Unfortunately, the world won't let them have that opportunity. The rise of mutants will have vast repercussions for all of humanity ... and the fate of the world may ultimately end up resting on the shoulders of a handful of teenagers.</p><p>BONUS- I'm looking to write some one-shots, separate from the main story. Feel free to comment with suggestions/requests. No promises made, but if something tickles my fancy, you may just get it. I expect length of the one-shots to be somewhere in the neighborhood of a chapter's length (2-3,000 words).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Skinny Little Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Max Eisenhardt, kept at the leisure of an evil scientist he knows only as The Doctor, cultivates a mysterious power- one that may one day change the face of history.

**The Skinny Little Boy**

 

It was falling again. Not the rain- though it had rained for most of the last week, and the damp had sent deep aches running down the boy’s bones, nor was it snow- the snows would come in a month or so. No. It was ash, settling quietly over the Earth, blown from the bigger camps upwind. By the end of the day, everything would be covered in a fine layer of the stuff. The work crews would be coughing and sputtering as the stuff got into their noses and their lungs, but there was no relief.

 

There was no relief for anyone, except at the leisure of the Doctor.

 

The skinny little boy understood that his life was in the hands of the Doctor, the tall, slender man standing before him, whose dark eyes fixed the boy into a serpentine stare. He understood that the Doctor gave him more food than the others, so he was merely hungry rather than starving, that the Doctor would treat him as best he could if he fell sick. That as long as the Doctor needed him, he would not be killed. The boy knew that if he somehow disappointed the Doctor, that he may very well be killed for it.

 

Max Eisenhardt knew that he was lucky, compared to the others in the camp. A few of them, the Doctor’s favorites, were like him, kept alive at his pleasure. He was ordered to do some work, but only enough, he imagined, to keep his muscles worked and fit- no more than a few hours of hard labour. Occasionally, the Doctor even gave his favorites sweets, mostly when he took their blood. On the days after he took blood, there would be no work at all.

 

But for the shuffling masses outside, they existed only to be worked until they died, or herded into the showers, or at least, that’s what they said they were. The reality made him want to vomit, even as far removed from the stench as he was right now. Once, he’d been dragooned by a guard into helping the _Sonderkommando,_ to drag blue and twisted corpses from the chambers, awash in a river of blood, shit and urine. They would have forced him to pry the gold from their teeth, search their cavities for hidden treasures, cut off their hair to be made into wigs or linings, except for the arrival of the Doctor.

 

He still remembered that day, nearly six months ago, as if it was yesterday. He remembered seeing the thin, drawn, agonized faces. _How could I ever forget? I shouldn’t. It’s not right. They must be remembered. I will remember them._

 

And yet, a small part of Max wanted to do nothing more than to forget all of this and go to sleep and wake up back home. He would be going to school now, probably working very hard, so he could go to university like his father had. His youngest sister, Anya would be playing with her dolls or trying to get Sophie to play tea party with her. He remembered his father putting on old records and dancing with their mother after dinner or listening to the newest songs on the radio. He could still smell his father’s pipe tobacco as he read the newspaper and pointed out the more important happenings to Max. And his mother, talking long hours away on the telephone with her friends, both Jews and non-Jews- certainly there were people who disliked Jews in their city, but neither Mother or Father lacked for friends.

 

They had been well-off, almost wealthy, in truth. It was expected that Max would attend university and become a doctor or a lawyer, though he’d always wanted to become a great scientist like Albert Einstein. Sophie and Anya could look foward to good marriages, probably with young Jewish men, though they would be far from the only Jewish girls to marry Christian boys. Mother didn’t like that, though Father- Father was always more secular, would have shrugged and said that it was the way of the world.

 

Above their fireplace, Max remembered some of his father’s most prized possessions- his helmet from the Great War, dented and scratched by bullets and shrapnel and in elegant glass cases, his Iron Crosses, First and Second Classes, won for bravery. _Father was such a proud German. He fought for the Kaiser over four years, was wounded thrice and got mentioned by name in the general’s dispatches three times._ Father didn’t quite fit into his old uniform anymore, but there was an old photograph of him, smiling proudly with his mother, just after their engagement. _He was recuperating from his second wound then, at Verdun. The first had been received at Tannenburg. They’d made him a lieutenant when he returned. At the end of the war, he was a captain._

 

The Doctor liked to pretend that he was being kind to Max by saving him from work details, by giving him the occasional sweet after he took blood, by giving him anesthetic when he had to do something more serious. The Doctor had told Max that he was marked as different from the others, from the other Jews- that he was something special and that if he was good and did what the Doctor required, that the Doctor would look after him.

 

But Max knew exactly how long that would last- until the Doctor had finished with him, like he'd finished with the others, like Ruth, whom he hadn't seen for some time. There was another young woman, he forgot her first name- but she was a Pridemann. He hadn't seen her either. It was just him and the Doctor, when the Doctor deigned to visit. Sometimes the orderlies would come with food, occasionally a guard would poke in. His hands balled up into tight fists and he longed, desperately, for a face to punch. But Max knew that he was no longer that cocky young man in Breslau. It wasn’t just risky to fight back when the Nazis picked on you anymore, it was suicidal. _And I must live. I need to survive and remember. And avenge, if I can. But remember, above all else._

 

_Perhaps. Perhaps I can use the power myself, like the Doctor makes me when he takes over my body. He says that I should be able to, that it is only dormant. I need to try again._

 

Max closed his eyes for a moment, and no doubt to anyone around him, it would look like he was trying to shake off a terrible memory- but he was doing something altogether different. If he shut out everything, all the horrible memories, all the screams, the dying, the smell of decay … if he could shut it _all_ out, he could feel something entirely different. He could feel his perception of the world around him change, to something infinitely changed from the endless death-grey of his existence, where he could escape from good and evil and life and death, where every single thing in the world was ordered perfectly into two categories.

 

_Metal and non-metal._

 

The bed was wooden, most of the room was useless to him. _Non-Metal._ But there were a few items that were usable. The Doctor had left some tools around him on the bed. A scalpel. A mirror surrounded by good steel. A surgical saw. Max opened his eyes again and reached out with his hand, trying to summon the metallic object to him. _If he can make me use the power, maybe, somehow, I can use it myself._

 

His heart sank when nothing happened. Hot tears played at the corner of his eyes. “No.” He managed to whisper in a voice that was shockingly hoarse.

 

 _I have to._ He thought of his mother and father and sisters- he had seen his father die and could only assume that his sickly mother and small sisters had perished as well. To hope was a fool’s crusade, he knew the fate of his people in the hands of these butchers. _I have to._ He remembered being kicked and beaten and threatened with death, he remembered the sadistic guards who once set a dog on him. _I must._ Max remembered the impassive face of the Doctor when he took over Max’s body and his mind, rooting through all of his memories and his secrets, right into the core of his very beginning.

 

_I will._

 

The scalpel, mirror and saw hurtled off the table and towards his hand, stopping, floating in mid-air about three inches from his flesh. He then concentrated on shaping the metal again, discarding the glass portion of the mirror, and shaping the rest of the metal into a long, jagged weapon. Max grabbed the weapon from its place. It felt good in his hand, cold and hard and he imagined plunging it into the Doctor’s blackened heart. Then a thought struck him. _If I can move it with my mind, shape it with my mind, I don’t need to hold it._ The blade began whirring about his head like a deadly halo. He reached out with his other hand, feeling pipes amid the concrete of the infirmary where he was. Max could feel his power stretching out to those pipes, bending them, and twisting them.

 

The wall first shook and then shattered with explosive force as the pipes raced back towards him. There was the immediate shouting of guards, but the shock of what had happened unmanned them for a brief time. A few seconds was all that Max needed. Dropping the pipes, he pulled at their guns and ripped them out of their hands. He stood up and turned towards the hole in the wall and the guards who were frozen in terror. Max turned his gaze towards one of the guards- Dirty Hans, the sadistic guard who forced him to empty the gas chambers, the man who made the women in their huts scream.

 

Max pointed at him and one of the guns fired several rounds, Dirty Hans falling backwards as bits of bone and brain sprayed out of the back of his head. Max pulled the trigger on the remainder of the clip of the gun, doing his best to obliterate the man’s face. The other guards remained motionless, shocked beyond all action. It was easy work to pull the triggers on them as well, though they were cleaner kills. The perimeter of the camp beckoned, not far. Freedom was only a short walk away, and who would stop him?

 

He stopped for a moment when he heard the sound of applause behind him, a slow clap. Max whirled around quickly, two of the guns opening fire immediately, spraying the area with bullets. When he saw that it was the Doctor, for a brief moment, he dared to have hope, that the vile, evil man was finally dead. _If I can’t free Ruth, maybe at least I have avenged her. And God help me, I will find a way to destroy them all._

 

The brief moment of grim triumph was, however, totally obliterated by the sounds of laughter coming from what should have been the Doctor’s corpse as he got up and moved towards Max with inhuman speed, his hands at the young man’s throat, all of the guns and the other metal clattering to the floor. The Doctor’s familiar bland face had melted away into a dark, satanic cast with chalk-white skin and featureless glowing red eyes. The Doctor, using strength that should have been impossible for a man like him actually managed to lift Max off the floor. Max could feel his eyes bugging out under the pressure and his veins bulging, feeling like he would burst. 

 

The Doctor smiled then, showing small, razor-sharp teeth. He looked like Dracula, from the cheap Hollywood horrors that his father never approved of him watching. The reality of it, though, was terrifying. And somehow,  _somehow,_ he couldn't use his powers at all.  _He's preventing me from using them._

 

“Very impressive, little Eisenhardt. Very impressive indeed. But I’m afraid, nowhere near adequate. I require your service for somewhat longer, I am afraid.” His grip tightened and Max desperately clutched at the Doctor’s wrists, trying to make him let go. He felt the pressure building up inside him as his air supply was cut off. He struggled as hard as he could, but nothing could possibly displace his iron-hard grasp. The world seemed to explode in building pain and then, as quickly as it did, everything went black for him.

 

When his eyes opened again, he felt horrible pain all over and the sensation of tubes sticking into his body at several places. It took some time for anything to become clear but eventually he could tell that something terrible was happening. There was noise outside, still distant to him but clearly people were agitated. He heard the crack of guns first, then the whistling of bullets and the heavy thud of what he imagined were mortars. _The Russians._ Max tried to will himself to get up and out, not caring about the tubes clearly stuck into him. _The Russians are here. Do I hide from them or do I run and join them?_

 

Forcing himself into alertness he first sat up, and then started looking for the tubes to pull them out, hoping that none of them were keeping him alive. _I can’t stay here. I could get flattened by guns._ The noises got louder and louder, and closer and closer, though they seemed to be made by fewer and fewer people. _Perhaps the Russians are winning._ It was then that he heard a different sound, a whistling sound, but one very different than a gun, followed by several pinging noises and a jubilant cry in a language he did not immediately recognize, but he knew wasn’t Russian. _Perhaps it is a unit from another part of the Soviet Union._

 

He managed to pull the tubes out of him and pull himself out of bed, though he immediately stumbled and fell to the floor. He could hear more talking now, in the same … no, actually, the language did sound a little familiar. Some of the words sounded much like German, though it clearly wasn’t. It struck him then like a thunderbolt. _English. They’re speaking English. It’s the Americans._

 

_I’m going to live. They’ll see what happened here. I’m going to live and I will remember. I will never forget._

 

Max could hear more heavy shouting, this time in German and some of what he figured was cursing from the Americans. _What I am I doing here? I can help them._ He reached out again and pushed out the infirmary wall through the pipes in it as hard as he could. He couldn’t grasp the wall itself, mostly being concrete, but large chunks of wall went flying twenty, thirty, maybe even forty feet into the air, along with shards of pipe that went much further, spraying several troops and surely killing a few of them. He summoned the pipe fragments back towards him and then came out the hole in the door again.

 

He heard the whistling of bullets towards him and instinctively threw his hands out, inadvertently dropping the pipe fragments and also, to his utter amazement, _stopping the bullets in mid-flight._ The guards continued to fire, but every round they fired at him was stopped as well, hovering, spinning in mid-air, held as if by an invisible net. His eyes opened wide in astonishment.

 

_How powerful am I?_

 

But soon his jaw set in grim determination and he tried to reach out with his power and push the bullets back the way they came, as hard as he could, faster, he thought, than they had been shot out of the guns to begin with, judging by the sickening ease with which the hail penetrated helmets and flesh and even the siding of an armoured vehicle. He reached out again, to the vehicle itself this time and, gritting his teeth, tugged at it, trying to lift it up. He could feel a burning pain through his entire body, but surely enough, the armoured vehicle lifted up into the air, uncovering terrified soldiers.

 

“No more!” He screamed, the only thing he could think to say as the heavy vehicle came crashing down on them. Those that were not crushed underneath it scattered and ran. He slumped against the wall, exhausted, looking towards the other side where he saw a small group of very unusually dressed soldiers looking at him.

 

“No English.” He managed to gasp out. “German. Polish. A little French.” He tried speaking in those languages successively.

 

“I know a little French too.” The one man, dressed in a gaudy outfit in the colours of the American flag said as he walked towards him. “We’re … we’re not here to hurt you.”

 

“Nice trick with the vehicle, kiddo.” His companion, a short, scruffy-looking man said, in a French that was both heavily accented and far more fluent. “You one of the Englishman’s lab rats?”

 

Max nodded slowly, assuming that they meant the Doctor. “Yes.”

 

The man with the ridiculously bright uniform spoke again, in his much more halting French. “We can take you with us. You’ll be safe, son.” Max wanted to yell at him for daring to call him ‘son’ but one look at the man’s face and something about it clearly suggested that he could be trusted. Max took a few breaths and nodded quietly. “Okay. I will go with you.”

 

“An’ quickly at that. The Krauts are gonna be bringin’ up more forces soon and HYDRA’s sniffin’ around these parts. Not even you can handle the whole Wehrmacht, kiddo.” The short, scruffy man looked at him, lighting up a cigar. “Think you got it in you to pull that place down? Make it easier to stop `em from using that lab again.”

 

“Nothing … nothing would make me happier.” Max replied. _I will remember._ He then stopped for a moment. “We need to find the Doctor. Your Englishman. He cannot get away- he can’t.”

 

“He’s already gone, son.” The bright blue man replied. “But I promise you, we will do whatever we can to find that man and bring him to justice.”

 

“If you find him.” Max replied, haltingly, gazing into the far taller man’s eyes with all the fury and passion he could. “Kill him. And pray there is a Hell, or there is no justice in the universe.”

 

The tall man in the bright blue looked like he wanted to say something for a moment but then thought better of it. The short, scruffy man seemed to understand better. _He’s seen things too, I know it._ The truth of it, however, was that Max didn’t want them to find the Doctor. He wanted to find the Doctor himself and tear him apart, limb from limb. He wanted to hear the Doctor scream, scream the name of the people he’d killed and tormented, to cry out the names of the others the Doctor had imprisoned, to cry out Max’s own name.

 

He took a deep breath and walked about twenty feet away from the building, the laboratory-infirmary-prison that he had been kept in for- Max didn’t know precisely how long, but he was guessing it was nearly two years and reached out towards it with his hand. He closed his eyes and felt the conduits and pipes, the bits of metal inside the concrete, by the masonry. He raised his arms in a grand gesture, as if composing a symphony and then opened his eyes and sent his arms crashing towards the ground, flattening the building utterly and then sucking it into the earth as the building collapsed into the basement and into the bomb shelter below.

 

The tall man in the blue and the short man in a scruffy uniform looked at each other and then at the gaping crater.

 

“Can we leave? I don’t want to be here anymore.” Max’s gaze turned back towards them.

  
“Yeah, kid, we can go.” The short, scruffy man replied after a pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally some content about the Doctor forcing a mutant woman in the camps on Max, for breeding purposes. I chose to remove it because I didn't feel having it was worth the potential trigger. It also felt unfair to include it in a chapter that is so obviously just about Max himself, with a character that we're unlikely to see in enough depth to really justify it.


	2. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles Xavier stands on the verge of making the announcement of the existence of superhuman genetic mutation before the World Genetics Conference in New York City.

**The Scientist**

 

 

“It’s quite a thing that you’re about to do, Charles. Do you think you’re really ready?” Moira McTaggart asked Charles Xavier, sipping a glass of champagne, graciously provided by their hosts.

 

“The world needs to know this, Moira. You know that. How much longer can we wait? Besides, someone is going to make the announcement sooner or later.” Charles replied, taking a sip of his own drink- a double of scotch, neat, feeling the warmth slide down his throat into his belly. _I could probably do with another three or four of these, but that would be dangerous. It’s harder to control my powers when I’ve been drinking._

 

“You know that I don’t ever think the world is ready. But you may be right- there’s not likely going to be a better time to tell everyone coming.

 

Whatever I do think of the world, though, I do know one thing, Charles-” Moira gently plucked the glass from Charles’ hand. “You’ve got to be _sober_ when you’re telling the world that mutants are real. Nobody’s going to believe you if you’re swaying on the lecturn.” She set it aside. “It’s not like you to be this nervous anyway. You’ve been through much worse in your life, really. It’s only scientists and a few reporters out there, not the President, the Queen of England and the Pope.”

 

Charles knew there was more to it than just that, that Moira hated to see _anyone_ drink more than a few, could barely stand to see anyone visibly intoxicated. He understood- her experiences with Joe had been terrible, and she was right. He was letting his nerves get to him already. He would have to deal with the inevitable explosion from the press gallery from his announcement. It would make setting up the Xavier Institute a little more complicated, though it was destined to be difficult anyway.

 

_It isn’t, after all, every day that one gets to publicly announce that mutants with superpowers live amongst us._

 

“We need to be able to control the message, Moira, as much as we can. Or the truth is going to come out from people who are afraid, even hateful. We need to be on top of this, to reassure people.” Charles took a breath. It had all seemed far easier before they were actually here, at the World Genetics Conference. “Besides, if nothing else, there may be a Nobel Prize for you in it. Which would make getting funding for your research much easier.”

 

“Nobel Prize for _us_ , Charles.” Moira replied. “But we both know it’s not really about that, is it? You’re still thinking of opening the school at your big old Mansion in New York.” She sighed. “Just when I was thinking that maybe you’d settle in Scotland for good.” She put on a good brave face, but Charles knew that she wasn’t precisely happy that he was going away, though he knew she accepted it was virtually inevitable.  

 

Charles frowned a little- it was a sad truth of their marriage thus far that it had been marked by as much distance as by togetherness, and establishing the school was unlikely to do anything for that. Moira was bonded to Muir Island by her work and by looking after the handful of wards she had acquired, mostly mutants who had little hope of easy integration into wider society. He had briefly flirted with establishing the school there, but he knew it would never work, it was too isolated, too difficult to access- and he didn’t want the Institute to be overly segregated.

 

Moira reached over to him and placed her hand on his, giving it a little squeeze. “We’ll get through it, though. We always do, don’t we?” She offered a small smile and bent down to kiss him, long and sweet. “No matter how much we’re apart, we’ll always be together. Now and forever. You couldn’t be rid of me if you wanted.”

 

“Nor you of me. Even if you wanted a handsome young boyfriend with a full head of hair.” _Who could walk._

 

“Charles.” Moira looked at him. “After so many years, you still think that’s something that bothers me, that you’re in a wheelchair?” Her lips curled downwards in a frown. “What happened, happened. At least you’re _alive.”_ Green eyes fixed his in an intense gaze.

 

“Moira’s right, Charles.” Erik Lehnsherr smirked faintly as he walked into the room, alongside his young children, Wanda and Pietro. Sitting quietly in the corner already was Charles’ adopted son, Scott and a young woman he’d been working with for some years, Jean Grey. Erik moved over to where Moira was, kissing her cheek lightly and then moved to take a seat near Charles. “You should be excited. This is the moment your life thus far has been building towards, has it not?”

 

“Of course, you’re both right.” Charles replied. “Scott, some water, please? I should get myself ready for the presentation.” He wheeled himself over to his desk and took out his notes, gathering them up and examining them again. “You all do understand the import of what will happen tonight, yes?” He spoke directly to the young people in the room- Erik and Moira were already well aware of it. “After tonight, superhuman genetic mutation will be public knowledge. It is significantly more likely that you may be identified somehow in the future as a mutant.”

 

“Great. Another reason for people to hate me.” Pietro rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a _great_ idea, just great.” Wanda turned towards him with a glare and sharply dug into him with an elbow to the ribs.

 

“I trust your judgement.” Scott piped up, breaking his usual quiet. “Besides, it’ll make organizing the school easier, won’t it?” He got up and went over to the water cooler to get some cold water, which he gave to Charles. “And you’re right, this way maybe we have some control over the message.”

 

“You’ve a much more faithful son than I do, Charles.” Erik noted with a certain wry amusement, before his tone turned more serious. “But I cannot say that I’m … happy about this. This announcement is only going to trigger panic, Charles. Would it not be better to open the school secretly for the time being? Gather our numbers, before making ourselves known?”

 

“We’ve had this discussion before, Erik.” Charles cut him off. “This is not about tactics and strategy, it is about the right of people to know the truth, and our obligation to make sure they get the _actual_ truth. I do not doubt that there will be some fear. But this way perhaps we can manage it and make people understand that, in all the truly important ways, mutants are just like humans.”

 

“Of course, Charles.” Erik replied coolly, in a tone that clearly said that he was less than thrilled about the idea. _I don’t like to proceed so boldly without your full support, old friend,_ Charles thought, _but it seems this time I must. We have little other choice._

 

“Why are we all looking so grim, anyway?” Moira suddenly exclaimed. “Heavens, we should be celebrating. Charles has been working towards this for so long and a discovery like this, could mean the Nobel Prize.”

 

“It is a noteworthy scientific accomplishment.” Wanda noted a little absently.

 

Erik took a small breath and sighed, nodding. “Of course. We should all be very proud of Charles and his incredible work discovering the truth behind the strange and wonderful abilities … most of us exhibit.” He looked over towards Moira again for a moment and then back at Charles. “You know that, despite all our disagreements, I am honored to be your friend. And proud to be here, at such an incredible moment in your scientific career.”

 

“Thank you.” Charles replied sincerely. “All of you.”

 

When Charles thought about it, it was rather amazing, all that had happened to bring them to this particular place, the years of struggle for recognition and funding, but even more importantly of finding out the truth about himself and people around him, people he’d become very close to. For most of his life, Charles was convinced that he was completely alone in his superhuman powers- until he’d met Erik. It was then that he became convinced that there was something behind the amazing powers that the both of them manifested.

That particular road had taken him down some very strange places in his life- and it had given him the chance to meet some very unique and amazing people that he would never have been able to, otherwise. Hank McCoy would be arriving in a few minutes- his ever-faithful research assistant, one of the most promising students he’d ever had in his life. Both Warren and Bobby were back at his mansion in Westchester, which would soon reopen as the Xavier Institute.

 

Charles looked over at Jean Grey for a moment and she smiled back at him. He remembered well when he’d first gone to see her, virtually comatose from the immense trauma of psychically experiencing the death of her best friend. It had taken years for her to recover, but she had amazed everyone and become an accomplished young woman, increasingly confident with not only her powers, but her other gifts. Whatever Jean decided to do with her future, Charles knew that she’d play a vital role in the future of the mutant people.

 

Next to her was a young man who was even dearer to Charles’s heart- Scott Summers, a young man whom he’d found in an orphanage in Nebraska, of all places. Unlike Jean, Scott didn’t have a family, didn’t have anywhere to go to, for all of Charles’s search. Ultimately, Charles had made the decision to adopt Scott as his own son, just as Moira had adopted Rahne- their son and daughter, in an admittedly unusual but very close family. Charles wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“Professor, I hope you’ll excuse my being late, but the traffic is simply _dreadful._ Who would have thought that New York City would be terribly busy on a Friday evening?” Hank McCoy laughed as he came in. “I really had intended to come earlier. I honestly swear.”

 

“It’s quite all right, Hank.” Charles laughed softly. “And please, you can call me Charles. We’ve worked together far too long for you to keep calling me Professor Xavier as if you were a freshman.” He wheeled over to where Hank was and took his hand, which Hank shook firmly but carefully, minding his strength. “To tell the truth, you should be up there with Moira and I. You’ve contributed nearly as much to this as we have.”

 

“Heavens, no.” Hank immediately blurted out. “This is your moment- yours and Moira’s. I wouldn’t dare think to intrude upon it. I’m simply honoured to have been able to assist you in whatever humble way I could.”

 

Charles could perceive in the corner of his eye, Wanda rolling her eyes at Hank’s slightly ostentatious show of humility. _Just like her father,_ Charles thought with some amusement. Pietro, on the other hand, had a far more sensitive, mercurial temperament and was obviously bored and was not bothering to hide it. Personally, he would have allowed Pietro to stay at home, but Erik had insisted on bringing him here. _Hopefully this whole thing isn’t too long, or Pietro may simply run out the door._ And once he started running, there was absolutely nothing any of them could do to catch him if he didn’t want to be caught.

 _How are you doing, Hank? Truly._ Charles projected his thoughts towards Hank. He knew the young man was particularly sensitive about his seemingly advancing genetic mutation.

 

 _It’s beginning to get difficult to shave it off, Pr- Charles. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do so for much longer. I suppose I shouldn’t, but you know how it is._ He could feel Hank’s hesitation and his fear. Charles knew that Hank had a lot to lose, between his rising professional prospects and his girlfriend, whom he was quite certain knew nothing about Hank’s mutant status. Something that he hoped Hank would be honest about soon, but he couldn’t blame him too much. It was a long time before he could tell Moira truly about his superhuman abilities.

 

It was something that Charles knew that he had to keep in mind in the coming days and months, that this announcement was going to have a very real impact on the everyday lives of many thousands of people. The revelation of the existence of mutants was going to directly affect people he loved personally, but also countless strangers. Charles knew that there would be fear directly associated with this announcement, that there was a possibility that people would lash out in hatred.

 

_Is it truly right for me to be making this announcement? Is it fit for me to be doing this?_

 

But then he considered the other side of it- people around the world would suddenly have something to explain their strange and terrifying abilities, something to identify as, and the possibility of meeting others like them. That these people possessed a genetic variation rather than some curse or some supernatural power would make it easier to encourage an informed public debate. He could create the Institute and recruit far more openly than if he was forced to operate secretly. People could even find him out.

 

“Professor Xavier?” One of the assistants hired by the Genetics Conference entered. “Five minutes until we’re ready to go.”

 

“Thank you.” Charles replied graciously, though he was slightly surprised when Moira settled herself comfortably on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

 

“You’re going to be wonderful, Charles.” She smiled warmly at him and bent down a little to kiss him. _And then the two of us can celebrate, yes? It’s been much too long, Charles Francis Xavier. I’ve missed you._ Moira was careful not to think too much more out loud, for risk that Jean might pick it up inadvertantly, which was the last thing that anyone needed.

 

“Might be a good idea to go over that speech again.” Wanda noted dryly, clearly just as bored as Pietro.

 

Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re probably right.” _On the other hand, Moira, I really can’t be bothered to ask you to move. I like you where you are._ He craned up a little to kiss her again. _I can barely believe that this is actually happening. In five minutes, it’s all going to be out in the open._

 

More privately, he couldn’t help but wonder what the full implications of that were going to be.

 


	3. The Adopted Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Summers learns something about life and love, as Charles holds a party to inaugurate the opening of the school.

**The Xavier Institute for the Gifted:**

 

“How does it feel to be part of the first senior class at the brand-new Xavier Institute for the Awesomely Gifted?” Bobby Drake asked Scott with a big grin on his face. The younger mutant, a sophomore, had decided to wear a fearsomely bright novelty suit to the opening party. It was one of a very, very few moments where Scott Summers was glad that he could only see things in shades of red.

 

“I think it’s silly to be talking about cohorts like that when there’s only a few of us.” Scott replied evenly. “Five right now. We’re going to be picking up some more students before September this year, but we’re not going to top out at any more than a dozen.” He went over to get himself some punch. “People seem happy enough, though. Curious. But I wonder how long it’s going to last before they realize that this really is a mutant school in their neighbourhood and that we aren’t going to be going anywhere. This isn’t intended to be a place where we disappear into.”

 

Bobby shook his head with a laugh. “Scott. Relax. Dude, come on. This is our little moment here. Let’s leave the angst for another day when, I don’t know, Professor Lehnsherr is giving us another rant on how people will never _really_ accept us.”

 

Scott couldn’t help but grin a little bit at the thought, though it was a rueful one and soon died on his lips. It was little secret that Professor Lehnsherr was less than fond of all the developments that had occurred since his father had made the announcement about the existence of genetic mutation. His father wouldn’t readily admit it, but he knew that their professional relationship and personal friendship had been placed under considerable strain. Though, at least, he had made an appearance here- stealing the spotlight as he was so inclined to do.

 

“You know, for all Professor Lehnsherr can be a huge grump and basically professional pessimist, that guy _really_ knows how to dress.” Bobby looked over again.

 

“I guess? I don’t really know.” Scott shrugged and looked over. Privately, he had some suspicions that Drake wasn’t really appraising his fashion sense so much, but it was not something he was going to bring up unless Bobby mentioned something. In any case, he was pretty sure that Bobby would confide in Hank a long time before he mentioned anything to Scott.

 

There _was,_ however, something undeniable about the man, Erik Lehnsherr, that even Scott couldn’t help but notice. It was the worst of all bad puns to say that the man had a magnetic personality, but it would have been an accurate description as well. He had an uncanny, almost eerie influence on people- whatever emotional energy Lehnsherr brought to a scene very often became the dominant mood of the room. Sometimes, it was almost as if he possessed people.

 

His father had a certain charisma as well, but Charles had always operated on a more intellectual level- his presence tended to be calming, rather than electrifying. When his father spoke in front of a large audience, it felt strangely intimate, like he was speaking, in confidence, to you alone. It was an impressive gift that translated particularly well in television interviews, alongside a wry sense of humour that few people seemed to give his father adequate credit for.

 

_Two very charismatic, strong leaders. If they’d just work things out, there isn’t a thing in the world they couldn’t do, and that’s the plain truth._

 

_Are you thinking again? Haven’t I told you about thinking too much?_

 

Scott turned around immediately to see that Jean had practically snuck up behind him- she could have tapped him right on the shoulder had she not decided to speak to him telepathically first. _God, I am distracted. That would’ve got me killed in the Danger Room._

 

_Good thing we’re not there, are we?_

 

Jean sidled up to where he was, smiling softly at him. “Relax. It’s a party, Scott, not a training simulation.” She quickly looked him up and down. “You look nice. New suit?”

 

“Uh, yeah, new suit. Gotta look good for the big day.” Scott decided that if she was allowed to get a bit of a look at him, then the reverse was fair game too. Though actually doing it made him a little weak in the knees and made his mouth decidedly dry. _Wow._

 

“You too. You look great, Jean.” Scott managed to stammer out, though what he really wanted to say is that she was the most beautiful woman in the room by far, in a room that had more than its fair share of pretty girls. He was fairly sure her dress was in some shade of green, though his glasses rendered everything in different shades of red. But even with his enforced colour blindness, he could definitely appreciate the way that the dress accentuated her curves. It was almost impossible for him not to stare, but he managed to bring his attention back to her face, rather than to the faint hint of cleavage or the curve of her hip. “Incredible, even.” He managed to add.

 

Jean laughed softly. “Thanks.” She was quiet for a moment and Scott immediately thought that he’d gone too far, stared too long, or that he’d done something else wrong. _I always do._

 

“Jean, _wow._ You look absolutely incredible. Stunning.” Warren immediately swooped in, not literally on his wings, but seemingly gliding on his feet. “I don’t know what these other people are thinking, but there is a huge dancefloor out there that is _calling_ to us.” Warren extended his hand towards her. “May I have the pleasure?”

 

“Sure.” Jean smiled at him and went off onto the dancefloor, though she looked back at Scott for a moment before her and Warren started dancing. Scott sighed harshly. _Just about typical._

 

“... Jesus Christ. Look at them.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “Well, no. Look at _him._ Prince Charming himself, off to save the fair maiden.” She looked at Scott. “You know she isn’t really into him, right? I mean, I’m more likely to get to second base with her tonight than he is. But she’s too nice to just openly _say_ that to him.”

 

Scott sighed a little harshly. “Wanda.”

 

Wanda sighed harshly, in near perfect imitation of him. “Scott.” She looked over at him. “Warren’s a fucking idiot and Jean knows it. Maybe he’s not the only idiot around here, though.” She looked significantly at him.

 

“Yeah, probably.” Scott shrugged and then looked at Jean and Warren twirling about on the dancefloor, at Warren’s hand on her waist and her arms around his neck. He felt his hands involuntarily clench up into fists. _But it’s not that simple. I can’t even look her in the eyes, not really. Besides, Warren’s rich, handsome and can fly._ “I’d dance with her, I guess, but I’m not very good at it.”

 

“Well, if that’s the problem, Mr. Summers- you could have simply said so.” Wanda took his hand. “Allow me to show you a few things about ballroom dancing.” She dragged him out on the dancefloor before he had any time to protest.

 

“Wanda, I mean, thanks, but it’s fine, you don’t have to-”

 

“Yes. Clearly I do.” Wanda’s green eyes flashed with much the same intensity that people so often saw in her father’s. “Now … put your hand right here.” Wanda guided her hand to her waist, just above the curve of her hip. “I’m going to put my arms around your neck. This is practice. You need to be able to look her in the eyes. Small talk is okay, but it’s not about having a conversation, it’s about sharing a moment.” Wanda looked up at him. “There’s nothing complicated about what they’re doing. Just don’t step on my feet. You’ll be tempted to stare at her chest looking down like that, but don’t.”

 

“Right.” Scott managed to mumble, inadvertently getting a glimpse of Wanda’s generous cleavage, emphasized by the pentacle necklace she wore.

 

“And don’t stare at _mine._ Perv.” Wanda laughed, the most genuine moment of amusement he’d seen in some time. “But you know what I mean now, right? Hard. Trust me. _Trust me, I know._ ” She grinned almost maliciously. “I’ve seen them.”

 

“Wanda!” Scott actually shouted out loud, though he was stopped by a subtle kick from her foot. “So, we sway to the music, I don’t stare at inappropriate places, lots of eye contact … what else.”

 

“You don’t want your first kiss, probably, to be on a public dance floor in front of your Dad, right? I mean, Uncle Charles would be _so_ proud, but I imagine you’d want a little privacy. So, when the music is winding down a little, you want to lean in close and ask if you can talk, privately.” Wanda looked up at him. “Just tilt your head down and not … quite whisper it into her ear, but make sure it’s for her ears alone. And for the love of god, make sure you’re absolutely _minty._ Because bad breath is going to kill you. Absolutely. Stone. Dead.”  

 

“Good to know.” Scott replied, feeling himself blushing what he imagined was a pretty deep shade of red.

 

“You’re not half bad, you know.” Wanda smiled faintly after a moment. “More than good enough to ask Jean for a dance after this song is over. Because if you don’t? I will. And I’m not making _any_ promises about what happens after that.”

 

“... really?” Scott asked nervously.

 

“Of course not, Scott.” She looked at him seriously for a moment. “I absolutely _love_ fucking with you, but I’m not going to do anything to ruin something really important to you. We’re as good as family. I’m sorry, but we’re stuck together.” She smiled again, more sweetly than she usually did. “One last piece of advice. Be you. She loves that.” She stepped away and nudge him a little. “Go.”

 

Scott made himself try to look as casual as possible, walking up to Jean as the music ended, trying not to look like the nervous wreck that he was sure he was on the inside. He took a breath and managed his best smile as he walked up to where Warren and Jean were, chatting after the dance.

 

“Hey Jean, Warren.” Scott managed to say, without messing anything up, thankfully. “Jean, I was wondering if you might, you know, like to have the next dance? If it’s not already all filled up, of course.” _That was terrible. Terrible. No wonder you don’t have any luck with women, Scott._

 

“I think I can shuffle around a few names on my dance card, sure.” Jean teased softly and walked over closer to Scott, who extended his hand to take her out a little further onto the dancefloor. He tried his best to relax as he settled his one hand on her waist, but even that small contact felt electric, her warmth radiating through the thin material of the dress. The music began again and they started dancing, slowly.

 

Surprisingly enough, Scott didn’t find it nearly as hard not to stare inappropriately as he might have thought- her eyes, even slightly obscured as they were by his optic visor, were more than captivating enough for him. And that soft, sweet smile? The one that came so naturally to Jean? He could feel his own mouth curve upwards, as if under some spell. How could he not smile? He was dancing with Jean Grey, after all.

 

Soon enough, Scott became aware that Jean was moving closer to him, until hardly anything at all was keeping them apart. To his very real surprise, it didn’t feel remotely as embarrassing as he thought it might. _It feels right, actually._

 

The happy moment, though, seemed to draw to a close far too quickly as he could hear the music start to die down. _Talk to her,_ he could practically hear Wanda saying in his head, _take her out to the balcony and tell her how you feel._ Taking a deep breath, he got ready to speak, to take his heart in his hands and finally say something about how she felt, but just as he was about to ask her, he could hear the system switching on. _Damn it._

 

 _It’s okay. We’ll talk soon,_ Jean’s soft, sweet psychic voice floated into his mind as she went up on tiptoes to softly kiss his cheek. “We should listen, though. It’s a big day for us all. Soon we’ll be students at the world’s first mutant academy.”

 

“Hell of a thing.” Scott murmured in agreement as he went beside Jean, a little surprised when she made no particular move to part from him or to let go of his hand. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Wanda looking at them. Their eyes met briefly and she waggled her eyebrows. Pietro, next to her, was looking as sulky and bored as ever.

 

Scott turned his attention, however, to the stage at the front, where his father wheeled himself in, unassumingly next to a lecturn that had been specially made for him. He didn’t precisely command attention quite the same way that Professor Lehnsherr did, but people still stopped what they were doing to listen to him. When he spoke, Scott knew, he often spoke fairly softly and people found themselves going into a respectful hush to listen.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, students, friends, thank you one and all for coming here. It’s my honour and pleasure to welcome you all to the Xavier Institute for the Gifted. In less than one month, we will be opening our doors to gifted young people from around the country, and indeed, the world. People with extraordinary talents but also very significant needs. My good friend and co-headmaster Dr. Erik Lehnsherr will be going through a presentation showing the specific features of the school shortly, but first I want to speak about why this school is necessary.

 

In the time since proof was presented of the existence of superhuman genetic mutation at the World Genetics Conference, the world has reacted with great uncertainty, even fear. I’m afraid to say, that there have been incidents of violence- both by non-mutants upon mutants and a few by mutants themselves. The world is, sad to say, a dangerous place for a mutant to live in. This school will provide young mutants with the opportunity to develop their abilities in a safe and welcoming atmosphere, and allow lonely young men, women and others the opportunity to meet people like them, many of them for the first time.

 

This school is specifically intended to be a sanctuary for these individuals, but at the same time, I have no intentions to segregate mutants from non-mutants entirely. The academic curriculum and training offered here will be supplemented by community work. Additionally, Empire State University will be offering courses, both on the physical site of the university and through distance education for those students who qualify for them. Students here will learn how to use their abilities, mutant and otherwise for the betterment of society, to become better citizens, of their countries and of the world.”

 

Scott noticed then that Jean had leaned her head on his shoulder while she continued to listen to Charles speak. He put an arm around her, unable not to smile. _He’s worked so hard for this. Maybe dreams really do come true._ He looked over at Jean and his smile turned into a shy little grin, which was met with a warm smile of her own.

  



	4. The Girl Who Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young girl, Kitty Pryde, deals with the collapse of her parents marriage and mysterious, excruciating headaches. And then she falls through her bed and she knows that her life will never be the same again.

**The Girl Who Fell:**

 

Kitty Pryde could deal with the yelling- sometimes she could simply throw herself right into the fight and yell back and shame them into shutting up. When her mother and father were fighting with each other, she could just get anger. Anger was an old friend, she wore it with all the comfort of a favorite pair of slippers. Righteous anger. Selfish anger. Anger came in so many forms, and it came so _easily._

 

Kitty Pryde was a fighter. She could deal with people fighting.

 

It was the aftermath, when the arguments were done, and one or another of her parents had left to stay with friends or with their parents or just gone to bed and she could hear the other one shuffling about like a shell-shock victim from history class, that it really got to her. Tonight, it was her father who was no doubt nursing a stiff drink and trying not to cry, because he’d always been told that men didn’t cry. But that was a lie, because she heard him at least once a week, and sometimes even saw him. Then he’d look up at her with sad, defeated eyes and she’d cry too.

 

It was around the time that her parents’ marriage had really started collapsing in earnest that the headaches had started, horrifying, crushing, burning headaches that felt like someone was trying to crack her skull open from the inside. Headaches that were so incredibly intense that it would literally blot her vision. Headaches that would leave her hopelessly retching for hours on end while sobbing her eyes out, until she had no tears or puke left inside her and she was left with the taste of bile and absolutely no relief in the pain.

 

The headaches had become so bad that she’d started missing school and her grades, her _grades-_ at the very top of the school had actually started to suffer. She’d got a B+ on her last English assignment. The so-called encouragement of her friends didn’t help any- the headaches, the _endless fucking headaches_ were taking a huge toll on her life. And the worst thing is that they only seemed to build, getting worse and worse. Relief, true relief was a rare and precious luxury and no painkiller seemed to really help with the problem.

 

And of course, the headaches had become yet another issue for her parents to throw around in their nightly screaming matches, just another particularly potent hand grenade for them to hurl. The medical bills from baffled specialists, who never failed to charge full price, were rising higher and higher, and while her parents were the farthest thing from poor, they weren’t rich and it was starting to become a problem, with the mortgage on a house that really was a little too expensive for their income and their two cars and Kitty’s lavish college fund.

 

Today, she hadn’t been able to even get out of bed, poleaxed utterly by the pain, not even able to go herself to get a bucket to place by the bed in case the headache decided to make her vomit as well as split her skull in two. Far from the cacophony of loud music or video chat that usually made her room something of a noise hazard for anyone around it, there was absolute dead silence, because anything else made her head hurt more. _Or did it?_ It was hard to tell because it just continued hurting. Sometimes it’d fade, but it never seemed to completely go away.

 

And there were the dreams.

 

She was always falling in the dreams, falling, falling, falling, falling through the floor, through the entire world and out the other side, into an endless black, before she woke up. When she had the falling dreams, she was invariably soaked in cold sweat and one time, she’d awoken on the floor- somehow falling out of the bed without disrupting the sheets, which weren’t the slightest bit rumpled. But, strange as it was, it was in the falling dreams were she didn’t feel any pain.

 

Sometimes Kitty wished she could just fall in real life, just keep falling out of her shitty, collapsing family and her shitty, collapsing head and just _escape._

 

There was no escape to be had at the moment though as she had to force herself to roll over and try desperately to grab at her own hair to keep it out of the way as she retched into the bucket. _Guess there’s no dinner tonight. Can’t keep it down._ That was yet another problem that she was facing- she spent so much time without any appetite and naturally had such a roaring metabolism that she was starting to lose weight. Which would have been fantastic, she supposed if she had any need to do so- but she was already naturally slender and she knew people were beginning to talk at school.

 

She reached over for a tissue to wipe her mouth after spitting a few last times into the bucket. She hated this, hated it so much. The whole thing just made her feel inhuman, like some sort of sick animal. _I’m missing dance lessons. I’m missing my training. I’m missing school. I’m missing my friends._

 

_I’m missing my entire life because of these fucking headaches that won’t go away._

 

_I just want my life back._

 

_God are you listening?_

 

_I just want my life back. I want my mom and dad to stop fighting and I want these headaches to end. Please. I just want to live again._

 

The thought that he wasn’t listening couldn’t stay out of Kitty’s head, which made her angry and with a rapidity that almost started her, she found herself hurling a pillow against the door. Kitty then collapsed onto the remaining pillow and began to cry desperately, pleading, begging wordlessly for something, anything to change but the pain. The incredible, blinding, pain which was destroying her life.

 

Sometime amid all of that, she must have fallen asleep because when she woke up, it was dark- and colder than her room ever was, for Kitty Pryde despised nothing more than having cold air lying in wait outside a bed as one was waking up. She groggily reached out with her hand and touched …. something cold and hard. It took her a moment to realize that _everything_ around her was cold and hard. There were no sheets on her. And though it was still very dark, it didn’t look like her bedroom at all. It was damp and there were strange shapes everywhere.

 

She sat up, throwing her arms around herself instinctively in the chill, wondering what had happened to her. It dawned on her slowly that it didn’t look like her room because it wasn’t her room at all _._ She was in the basement. Kitty’s eyes opened wide as she stood up slowly and looked around.

 

“How did I get here?” Kitty asked herself quietly, a hand running up idly to her head, when she realized something else suddenly. _My head. It doesn’t hurt at all._ That realization hit her so hard that she found herself sitting down again. _It’s gone. The pain’s gone. Not just abated … maybe it’s gone for good. Maybe God did listen!_ It was a desperately foolish thought she realized, but what else could really explain it?

 

She started laughing, not a small girlish laugh, but a bawdy cackle that filled the room completely, a laughter that didn’t stop until she was too hoarse to continue. _What am I even doing? I’ve woken up mysteriously in the basement and I can’t be happier about it!_

 

Kitty’s reverie, however, was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, her father’s by the sound of the heavy footfalls coming down the basement. _He must have got home early from work, either that or I was out for longer than I thought._ She managed at length to get herself off the floor, just as he came down, eyes wide and obviously concerned.

 

“Are you okay? I went to see if you were sleeping and you were, it looked like you were _gone._ Then I heard you laughing down here …” Her father looked at her, clearly having trouble putting what happened together.

 

“I must have sleptwalked or something. But … my head doesn’t hurt. At all.” Kitty smiled and walked over to him to hug him tightly. “Dad, it’s okay, people sleepwalk.”

 

Her father hugged her back for a long moment, holding her tight and then stepped back a little. “... Kitty. I, I don’t think so. I was home nearly the whole time. I would have heard or seen you sleepwalking. And I don’t think sleepwalking would do anything …” She looked up at him. He looked really, truly concerned about this.

 

Kitty tried to consider the alternatives- she couldn’t have simply fallen so far without hurting herself and besides, the floor above her was intact. And yet, falling would explain why she was prone when she arrived there instead of waking up walking around or something like that. Falling would explain why she hadn’t dragged the covers off with her, why she looked like she had simply disappeared. She’d done that before, the time she ended up on the floor of her bed, fallen as if she went _through the sheets._

 

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that she’d fallen through _,_ rather than falling off. She reached out to grab her father’s arm, to share with him her excited deduction, but instead of her hand wrapping around his forearm, it went straight through his arm and indeed, the rest of his body with no more than a slight pins and needles feeling. She screamed and jerked her hand back eyes wide, her excitement instantly curdling into terror.

 

She screamed. Her father cried out and stumbled back, tripping into a pile of bagged old clothes they’d been planning to give to the homeless shelter downtown. She found herself backing up and through a support column in the basement before she finally seemed to hit something solid at the basement wall.

 

_What’s happening to me? What is this? I’m not dead. I’m not a ghost._

 

Realization hit her like a freight train.

 

“... Daddy, am I a mutant?” Kitty managed to say, eyes wide, suddenly terrified that her father would cast her out like she heard in the news stories, that a mob would converge on their quiet suburb like some scene out of her great-grandma’s stories.

 

But her father didn’t continue recoiling from his daughter- though clearly, visibly frightened, he walked back towards her. “I don’t know, Kitty. I don’t know, but we’re going to find out and it’s going to be okay.” He reached out for her, and when his hand stopped at hers, he wrapped it around her hand and squeezed gently, but firmly. “We’ll figure out how to help you and make it right. Whatever it takes.”

 

Kitty just nodded. “... what are you going to tell Mom?”

 

Her father sighed. “I don’t know. Your mother … look, we all know what your mother says about mutants on the news. But it’s different. You’re her daughter and she loves you. We’ll figure out something. Make a plan. I don’t know what yet, but we will, I promise you.”

 

Kitty wiped her eyes with her arm, feeling the hot wetness of tears on her skin. She awkwardly wrapped her arms around herself and tried to collect her thoughts. “There’s a place for mutants. I saw it on the news. In New York.” The thought made her slightly sick, though, the notion of possibly leaving Chicago.

 

“Charles Xavier.” Her father replied. “Professor Charles Xavier. If anyone can tell us if that’s what’s happening, it’s him. I’ll have to talk to your mother and call him soon. But … come on. It’s cold down here. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” He took her gently by the arm. “It’s going to be all right, Kitty.”

 

“... at least my head doesn’t hurt.” Kitty managed to reply, with a small, wan laugh.

 

“A silver lining to every cloud, I guess.” Her father replied with a worried little smile.

 

They walked up the stairs in silence and Kitty sat on the barstool of the kitchen counter while her dad made hot chocolate, with store-brand powder, hot water, a little Quik and half a mug full of marshmallows, the only way he knew how. She took the steaming hot mug of sugar water and sipped delicately, the sweet rush washing away the remaining acrid taste in her mouth. Her father sat there with her quietly for a moment, neither of them really having much to say.

 

Nothing had, of course, been proven, there’d been no tests yet- Kitty imagined there were tests for being a mutant, just like she’d had a million tests for her headaches. Hopefully they were less exhausting and expensive. Something inside her, however, told her that not only was she a mutant, but that she was going to the school in Westchester. It was the only thing that seemed logical. It was the only thing that seemed _right._

 

“How’s the hot chocolate?” Her father finally asked, breaking the contemplative silence.

 

“Good. Tastes like diabetes.” Kitty hoped that the lame attempt at a joke would lighten the atmosphere a little.

 

“I could make you a sandwich or something. If you think you’re up to it, with the headache gone.” Her father smiled faintly. “Though a fluffernutter is just more sugar- but we’ve been through so much just today, that, heck, why not celebrate?”

 

“No. That is precisely what I need. More marshmallow. I’d … yeah, that’d be really great.” When she thought about it, she _was_ hungry.

 

“Good. Crunchy or smooth?” Her father asked teasingly, clearly happy for the slight shift in the mood.

 

She looked at him with a comically scrunched up face. “Crunchy, duh. Let’s get some texture up in there.”

 

Her father sighed. “Never thought I’d be so happy to hear you snarking at me. Crunchy it is.”

 

It felt good to joke around with her dad, but deep down, Kitty knew that nothing would be the same, ever again. _I’m a mutant now, and that’s all that most people are going to see. Forget being Jewish or a girl or a nerd or a dancer. A mutant. That’s how people work. That’s probably going to be my label from today until the day I die._

 

That thought made her angry, but that was okay. Anger was an old friend and she could work with anger- anger motivated her. _I’m a mutant, but I’m also Kitty. And nobody’s going to forget that._


	5. The Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Logan Howlett undergoes the procedure to bind adamantium to his bones and conditioning to destroy his sense of self, to become the faceless, nameless Weapon X. 
> 
> He also gets a very important assignment ...

**The Weapon**

 

 

“Subject- Male, mixed Aboriginal and Caucasian ancestry, apparent age mid to late 30s, actual age estimated to be over 150. Mutant, possessing enhanced physical attributes, most notably a remarkable regenerative property. We believe him to be an ideal candidate for the program.”

 

Logan could only hear the words of the Doctor distantly, as if he were standing a hundred feet away and not right next to him. _They’ve got me on the most incredible cocktail of hard drugs. Pumped into me constantly. Buckets of the shit._ He’d tried to struggle out of the clamps, but the strong metal in them held. He’d pulled at them until the metal of the clamps had stripped off skin to the bone and everything was slick with blood, but there was no budging. He was trapped and now his body didn’t respond to his mind.

 

“All vital signs holding steady. Signs of some minor mental agitation evident, nothing serious, however. Prepare the solution for immersion. Heating adamantium.”

 

Right now, nothing hurt very much- he knew there were several tubes in him, could feel them in a sense, but nothing actually gave him pain. In truth, he’d rather that everything hurt- the locked-in feeling that he had right now was far worse than simple pain. He could work with pain, especially simple physical pain. He’d known a lot of it in his life. _I’ve been in several major wars and a lot of bloody fighting outside of `em too._ He remembered going south as a young man to put on a blue uniform, dispatched to hunt down raiders in grey and protect important men.

 

Shortly after that, he’d come back home to fight with Louis Riel in the Red River- he’d become the man’s bodyguard and there was a picture of him he’d seen in a few books since, with him standing alongside the leader. _Man had his demons, but his heart was in the right place._ When Red River had ended, Logan had taken his skills to Europe, fighting for whoever would hire him. He’d come back home for the North West Rebellion and had been shot seven times at Batoche by the Canadian army. _But I’d crawled off and once they got Louie, they weren’t interested in lookin’ too hard for low-level people. Besides, I found work elsewhere._

 

Logan reckoned that, all told, he was probably the most experienced soldier in the world- and the one thing he’d learned about wars is that they all came down to the same thing, killing the other guy before he killed you. You killed him not because of what the officers or the propaganda people told you, you kill him because only one of you was going to survive- and it was going to be him. It always was. _Guess I’m good at one thing. Survivin’._

 

_And killin’. I’m good at that, too._

 

That, of course, was what got him here- once upon a time, he might have happily volunteered for this Weapon X project, but those days were done. Logan had wanted to retire, at long last, maybe find a nice woman that didn’t mind grumpy, hairy guys with a lot of skeletons in his closet and settle down. Somewhere quiet, far away from any cities. He’d actually found the place, a little cabin up in Northern Ontario in the lake country, with good fishing and even better hunting. _A man could live a good life off that land. Fresh fish and wild meat and most of the rest of it from a little garden. Only have to go into town once in awhile to have some brews or get some cigars. Sell furs for any cash I needed._

 

It was a nice dream, but he should have known that they’d never let him rest- he was simply too good at his job to be let go. He’d put up a fight, but in the end, they’d just sent more men than even he could handle. When Logan had gone through the doors, he’d probably been two-thirds bullet lead by weight. And now, though he didn’t understand all the details, he was going to be walking around with a lot more metal on him for the rest of his life.

 

He hadn’t wanted that, but it wasn’t the thought of a little metal on his bones that haunted him, it was what he knew would come with it. _They aren’t gonna want James Logan Howlett. They’re gonna want Weapon X. A nobody, who will do whatever they command. A puppet._ The thought enraged him, but he couldn’t even struggle now- whatever they were filling him up with totally inhibited his ability to move. His body wasn’t listening to his brain. And pretty soon, he thought, his body would be stronger than ever, but his real self, his mind, his goddamn _soul,_ tainted as it was, was going to be gone.

 

Logan had been a killer since he was still a boy, but they didn’t want a killer. They wanted a weapon, one they could simply point towards a target. Targets that Logan would never have gone after in his life before- he had no problems killing politicians or soldiers with rifles in their arms, but they weren’t going to use him for that.

 

_Pray that I am dead, you bastards, because if even a shred of me lives, I’m coming back for you._

 

“Preparing the subject for immersion in solution. Paralysis still at 100% efficiency. Heated adamantium being prepared in magnetic coils for molding. About to initiate involuntary projection of bone claws.”

 

Logan was slightly surprised that it hurt when he popped his claws, the bone claws shredding their way out of his skin, causing rivulets of blood to seep out from the torn flesh. But it would be mere seconds before the wounds healed themselves. It was nothing that he couldn’t endure, he’d endured so much worse in his life- the worst pain maybe being gutshot with a poisoned bullet by some HYDRA assassin. That had been the worst- the poison basically melting his guts, with their contents, creating a toxic slurry in his system that remained for days. He’d nearly died, and anyone without his healing powers would surely have perished in screaming agony.

 

He didn’t know what this bonding procedure would be like, compared to that, but he was willing to bet that it wouldn’t be pretty.

 

Suddenly Logan felt a mask being lowered over him, covering his mouth and nose as he was slowly lowered into the vat, into slightly blue-tinged fluid that chilled him to the bone- clearly kept just above freezing. He supposed it was likely to suppress bleeding and to slow his heart rate and breathing while the bonding took place. He couldn’t hear them anymore, but they were still talking to each other, the scientists, the devils in their identical white coats, including his very own personal Satan, a tall, lean man with a faint British accent, who visibly frightened even the other Weapon X scientists.

 

He’d smelt that man before, around a Nazi experimentation facility that he and Cap had busted. He remembered the young man they’d helped rescue like it was yesterday- and there was a strange irony in it all. _That boy became Erik Lehnsherr when he landed in America. Became a scientist and a famous one at that. He invented the metal they’re gonna stick in me. I remember some of the scientists talking about that. Didn’t see him anywhere around, though- doubt he’d go for this._ Logan doubted that the kid- well, he’d be an old man by now, though he looked awfully well-preserved the last Logan had seen him, had any idea who was using the alloy he’d invented, and for what.

 

Logan shivered in the ice-cold water, feeling the chill seep past his skin, into his very bones. An ordinary man would be suffering already from hypothermia, possibly even have suffered a heart attack. He’d pulled enough dead and dying men from freezing water to know the signs of it. He’d lost one of his best friends- Steve Rogers, the man better known as Captain America, to the frozen waters of the North Atlantic. _No way for a man to die, out there by himself like that._

 

Logan, however, knew from bitter experience that cold water wasn’t going to kill him. He remembered being thrown into freezing water as a shell blasted the rest of his squad into smithereens in the First World War. He’d been forced to spend a day and a night in the frozen mudhole, pale and shaking, but alive. Logan remembered trudging through a Russian winter with Stalin’s Red Army, escorting back German prisoners of war that would almost assuredly not survive the gulags. Logan knew that a little cold wasn’t going to kill him. _Probably getting some nasty shrinkage, though._ It felt strangely good to consider something so juvenile on the verge of something so catastrophic- whatever would happen to him in the future, they had no real control over him now.

 

And should he find a way to survive all this, as himself, as Logan, he’d get his revenge, he’d cut all their guts out. He swore, by every god he could think of, all the people he’d loved and lost in his life, that he’d find a way to survive, that he’d come back and he’d make sure they never hurt anyone ever again.

 

_Ya hear that, motherfuckers? I’m going to survive this. I’m going to survive and I’m going to send you to Hell where you belong. I’m gonna cut your guts out with the claws you gave me and feed you to the dogs._

 

The defiant note turned sour, though, as he felt countless needles sticking into his flesh, the vaguely bluish fluid turning slightly purple as little bits of blood welled out from the wounds. And then he saw the canister, filled with a silvery substance which was being rapidly spun about. He then watched the canister start to empty as it slid through the tubes and into the needles, into him. The pain turned from considerable to utterly excruciating as the adamantium seeped into his body, flowed towards his bones and started coating them.

 

Rational thought left his mind and all that was left was pain, slicing, stabbing, white-hot agony as the adamantium fused to his bones, cutting his flesh into ribbons as it travelled, the red in the water overwhelming the blue as his blood filled the tank, as the seething metal flowed into him, over his bones, into the bone claws that he’d largely disdained in the past. Pain so incredible that he was certain he passed out several times, only to be brought back to consciousness by his healing factor, desperately trying to keep him alive. He felt a new pain, incredible, crushing radiating pain in his chest as the shock and strain gave him heart attacks, stabbing pains in his brain as he spontaneously gave himself a series of strokes, all because the pain was _too great,_ too much for any human to actually endure.

 

“... subject nearly died during bonding process. Suffered eleven strokes and six heart attacks. Thankfully, his regenerative properties seem to have not only kept him alive but affected a permanent recovery. There may be some long-term consequences, however- memory loss is likely to be severe, something that will likely make conditioning easier. Subject is regaining limited consciousness. Sedation recommended until physical recovery is complete.”

 

The man felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness as doctors swarmed around him.

 

“Doctor … will begin the conditioning as soon as physical recovery judged to be complete, estimated to be approximately six hours …”

 

“Telepathic conditioning is proceeding better than originally expected. Severe memory loss appears to be contributing to this pleasing development. Weapon X should be ready for action within five or six days.”

 

“Final physical report indicates that adamantium skeleton has bonded satisfactorily. Subject has made a full recovery. Recommending that subject be awoken and undergo first mission.”

 

“Weapon X?” A soft voice asked.

 

The man bound to the table simply growled vaguely in response, eyes only slowly opening. He had a vague memory of incredible pain, but nothing else. “... is that who I am?” Weapon X looked up at the scientist. He thought he had a name, was quite sure he had a name. He had no recollection of what it was, though.

 

“It is the only name that matters.” The soft voice replied. “How do you feel?”

 

“Lousy.” Weapon X replied. “But good enough for work, I suppose.”

 

“Excellent.” The soft voice continued, obviously pleased with the latter part of it. “There’s someone very important we need you to take out.”

 

“Who’s that?” Weapon X replied, finding that part of him was itching for action. It’d been too long since he’d been out in the field. It was the only thing he was good at. Indeed there was a strange itch around his knuckles, as if something was bursting to get out. With a slight growl, he _pushed_ with his muscles at the itch and was astonished as six foot-long caws slide out of his wrist, silvery and gleaming in the let, and yet they shone with a sharpness far beyond anything he’d seen.

 

“... what happened to me?”

 

“Weapon X, you have been augmented with an adamantium skeleton and claws. They are not basically indestructible and can cut through virtually any substance.”

 

“Sounds useful.” Weapon X hoped that the man with the soft voice was right. If he was, that would make his work a lot easier. _Won’t have to carry half so many knives. Not that I have anything against knives. I rather like them. More personal than guns._

 

“Someone who is proving very frustrating to our superiors. A man who endangers our long-term plans. Someone who absolutely must be neutralized if we are to continue.”

 

“Great. I’m yer man. But gimme a name.” Weapon X growled.

 

The man with the soft voice paused for a moment but the nodded. “His name is Charles Xavier.”

 

“Charley X, huh?” Weapon X mulled the name over for a bit. “He’s a dead man, then.”

 

“Excellent.” The man with the soft voice seemed well-pleased.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, Wolverine isn't 'white'. He's Metis, a Canadian culture comprised of people of mixed Aboriginal and European ancestry. Whyfore? Partly because I enjoy the idea of greater diversity in the cast. But also it makes more sense- there simply weren't many purely European people kicking around Western Canada. 
> 
> Judging by his name, his European parents would be Scottish rather than French.


	6. The Amazing Nightcrawler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt Wagner, also known as the Amazing Nightcrawler, is only sixteen and is already one of the most renowned trapeze artists around. Though possessing a very strange mutation, he seems to have all he really wants. Whether dealing with his jealous but beloved adoptive brother Stefan, or with the flirtatious magician's assistant, Amanda Sefton, the life at the circus is the only one he's ever known and the only one he really wants. 
> 
> But unfortunately, being a mutant is a dangerous thing ...

They’d wanted to name him the Blue Devil. 

 

Kurt had refused steadfastly to be named as such by the circus, to be known as the Blue Devil by the media and people of Munich. It wasn’t that it was a bad name,  _ per se _ , it really did have a sort of ring to it but it just struck a little too close to home for him. Kurt Wagner had been named ‘devil’ by too many people who seemed to truly believe he was a hell-spawned demon to be comfortable with wearing the name. He remembered more than one time he’d wandered out a little too far and been caught. The panic, terror and blind hatred he was shown in those moments had been seared into his memory. But thankfully, those times had been rare enough it was just a local legend. 

 

The people that saw his shows figured that he was just a performer in artfully applied makeup, that the tail was a prosthetic, that the glowing eyes were specialty contact lenses. But the truth was, of course, that none of it was an illusion- it would take more artful illusions than the circus could conjure up to make him truly pass for an ordinary human. The dark blue velvet fur that faded into virtual nothingness into darkness, the large hands and feet, the prehensile tail, the sharp fangs, the glowing yellow eyes- all of it was real. All of it was  _ him.  _

 

And Kurt Wagner was no devil- though sometimes on dark, gloomy days, he needed to remind himself of that. He had heard of ‘mutants’, men and women who were born with strange genetic differences, some of which gave those people extraordinary powers. Kurt remembered well reading the magazine article his mother had given him- it was in English and Kurt had been very proud of how well he’d been able to read it for his family, explaining what mutants were. It even mentioned that there was a school for mutants, far away in New York in America. 

 

_ What a strange and wonderful place that would be. Perhaps I would not be the strangest one there.  _

 

Kurt knew, however, that he could never actually leave his family, or the circus. Like any performer, Kurt craved the adulation and applause of the audience, the gasps as he attempted incredibly daring and dangerous jobs, not to mention the fabulous adrenaline rush of leaping and dancing several stories in the air. His act was the most fantastic and dangerous highwire act in all of Germany, and perhaps the world- he knew very well that many of the stunts he performed required feats of agility well beyond that of any ordinary human. Kurt knew this because part of the act involved a leap that was a foot wider than the current long jump record- Kurt easily bested it. They’d expanded the distance to five feet greater now and he was making it with hardly any difficulty. 

 

_ And tonight, it shall be made six, and I’ll make that too. And disapppear at the end, only to end up landing in one of the chairs. The Amazing Nightcrawler has never let his audience down. _

“Just about ready for the big show, Kurt?” His brother Stefan asked him as he walked in. There was something hesitant and tentative about him, and Kurt wondered if he was still feeling jealous. He knew that Stefan worked much harder than him at acrobatics, for half the success.  _ I can take no credit for the Lord’s blessings- nor offer blame for His curses.  _ They had fought terribly a few days ago and he’d been avoiding Kurt ever since. 

 

“Of course.” Kurt offered a smile, though he tried not to seem overconfident. “And you? Everything is ready?” 

 

Stefan nodded. “... everything’s ready. Should be smooth sailing. Mother and Jimaine will probably pass out at some point- but it’s all been tested. Everything’s safe.” 

 

“Good.” Kurt nodded, though he did not fear failing equipment as much as he perhaps should.  _ But others must perform before I and they cannot teleport nor can they catch themselves with their feet or a tail.  _ Kurt had fallen, once, when he was inexperienced and pushing his skills too far. The sixty foot drop had earned him nothing but a broken ankle- and that more from landing poorly than from the distance.  _ I am so ungrateful, railing against you Lord, as I sometimes do, for the way I look. You’ve given me astonishing gifts in Your Wisdom.  _

 

“Should be quite a night, Kurt. People won’t believe their eyes.” Stefan offered up a slightly crooked smile. 

 

_ They never do, no matter how many times they see it,  _ Kurt mused, as Stefan left the room, no doubt to get something to eat. Kurt could feel his own stomach grumbling and he swore he could already smell the bubbling stew and fresh bread. The people of the circus who had adopted him, they were not wealthy people, but they’d never seemed to lack for food, and delicious ones at that. Which was all for the better, because Kurt had always had a positively fiendish appetite, even more than the other young men did. He got up out of the chair he’d been sitting on and started to make his way over to the mess hall were the other performers were eating. 

 

“ _ Herr _ Wagner.” A familiar voice, sweet and thick like fresh honey spoke from behind him. “Where have  _ you  _ been all day?”

 

“ _ Fraulein  _ Sefton, merely preparing for my nightly performances.” Kurt grinned easily. “I hope you didn’t miss me overmuch.” 

 

“Overmuch? You read too much Shakespeare.” Amanda teased softly. “When am I going to get my sonnet? Or am I not enough like a summer day for that?” 

 

Kurt staggered back as if wounded, though he grinned widely. “Too much Shakespeare? You wound me, my sweet.” 

 

Before he could think of anything else witty to say, or amusing to do, his thoughts about dinner were interrupted by a very different sort of taste as Amanda kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer as she deepened the kiss. When they finally parted, he was feeling a little breathless. 

 

“You talk too much.” Amanda said with a little grin on her face, which widened into something positively fiendish. “I’ll see you after the show, Herr Wagner. Good luck.” She turned a little grandiloquently and walked back the way she came, leaving Kurt’s heart hammering and his train of thought completely derailed. 

 

_ Women, I do not understand them. But I’ll never tire of trying to.  _ There was little he could do but laugh a little and make his way, finally, to the mess hall, where his family, his whole family, the people of the circus were eating and drinking and laughing. Big Hans, the strongman, slapped Kurt on the back so hard he nearly spilled his drink- not that losing some milk was really a big loss.  _ If my mother weren’t there, they’d let me have beer. I’m legal here in Germany. Ah well.  _

 

The rest of the night before the big show was a bit of a blur as the preparations grew increasingly frantic. As was Kurt’s habit, he knelt to give his prayer, but he found to his annoyance that it was hard to think of God.  _ Forgive me, Lord.  _ But it was true, he could only think about the show ahead and, also, to seeing Amanda after the show- most likely for somewhat unbiblical activities.  _ But can things that feel so good really be a sin? _

 

_ I can’t let myself get too distracted, though. I’ve got a show tonight. The Amazing Nightcrawler must perform tonight.  _

 

Kurt rose and started walking out of his dressing room and towards the backstage area, where he noticed Big Hans glowering at a pair of young people- a rather pretty redhead and a serious-looking young man with red glasses, and telling them that they couldn’t go backstage. Kurt was about to pay it no further mind when the redhead saw him and immediately called his name.  _ Fans? Probably looking for my autograph.  _

 

Kurt smiled and waved at them. “I’m afraid that I can’t sign any autographs personally. But signed posters are available at the merchandise booth.” As soon as he said that, however, he realized they weren’t German-speaking. He repeated it, again, in slightly halting English. 

 

“No. We need to talk to you about something. It’s very important- perhaps after the show?” The young man with the red glasses spoke in a rather somber tone, and perhaps under different circumstances, Kurt would have listened to him. 

 

“I am afraid I do not … I am not in the habit of speaking to people backstage. My … act is very important to me and I do not wish people to see me outside my costume. Please leave.” Kurt spoke a little more haltingly this time and Big Hans moved a little closer to them. He hoped they got the hint. He wouldn’t want to get Big Hans upset at him. 

 

“Kurt! Please, we need to talk to you-” The redhead was interrupted by Big Hans. 

 

“Out!” Hans bellowed in German, positively towering over the two. 

 

_ Kurt.  _ There was a voice in his head that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t his mother’s voice either, nor Amanda’s honey-sweet one- he realized somehow that it belonged to the redhaired girl.  _ Please. We just want to talk to you.  _

 

But Kurt was not going to listen- or indeed, to risk being near the strange girl who could speak inside his head. Instead, he simply decided to cut the rest of the distance between where he was in the backstage, teleporting in a whiff of brimstone.  _ Let them wonder. I have an act to perform.  _

 

Kurt had been more unnerved by the strange girl, though, than he’d thought and he found it difficult to focus on his act ahead, or indeed, even to look forward to seeing Amanda later.  _ What did they want?  _ Kurt didn’t know- he wondered if they were other mutants, but even so, what would he do? He had a family here, a job that he loved dearly and a girl that at the very least seemed not to be repelled by his appearance. He honestly didn’t know if Amanda really loved him or was just curious about him, but it didn’t matter- she could see past his appearance. How many other girls could? How many other  _ people  _ could? In the circus, he didn’t need to feel like a freak. What if they wanted him to come out publicly as a mutant? He’d never be able to perform again. 

 

_ I’ve got to focus, or I’ll have an accident.  _

 

The first several acts of the circus unfolded in the usual manner. The animal tamer would lead the dogs and horses through their paces- they’d got rid of their exotic animals long ago- too expensive and admittedly less than ideal for the lions themselves. There would be other trapeze artists, Stefan among them. The second-billed performer, Eric the Magnificent would take the stage and amaze people with his feats of magic- Kurt had learned several magic tricks from him, and besides, Amanda was his assistant and Kurt was  _ always  _ interested in watching her. The clowns would fill time between the acts. 

 

And then it was time for what people had really come to see, the Amazing Nightcrawler, the circus’s highest billed performer- probably the most renowned performer in all Munich now, and he knew that in the spring and summer when the circus went on the round, they would be performing in larger venues now. He’d been assured that there would be no more performing in small regional towns now- they’d be going to Vienna, Prague, Stuttgart, Berlin, first-tier cities for a circus that was now truly coming into its own.

 

As Kurt went out to face the audience, he was struck by how silent the crowd was- normally they would applaud loudly.  _ A tough crowd then.  _ He decided to play up his ascent a little to pique their interest, walking up the ropes to the top of the tightrope on his feet rather than climbing up with his hands. He deftly flipped up ten feet into the air once he reached the top, turning three flips and landing perfectly on one foot- that earned him some applause, though he noticed a sizeable section of the audience remaining stonily silent.  _ Peculiar, that.  _

 

Much of the rest of his performance was a well-practiced routine by that point, as the other trapeze artists came out to support him and he got to show his strength, picking up two of the men at one time, one with each foot, his own long feet wrapping securely around the rings. They would jump through their hoops and cross the tightropes with their poles- and Kurt would leap through hoops ten feet higher in the air than theirs and do cartwheels over and  _ under  _ the tightrope. 

 

It was then as he made a landing after a particularly tight jump that he realized something was horribly wrong.  _ This isn’t stable.  _ Everything seemed to go in extreme slow motion as Kurt saw just how precarious the whole platform was. The netting that had been put up and the positioning of the whole construction would protect the audience, but not his fellow trapeze artists. Kurt knew in that instant he had no choice and immediately vanished into the air into a puff of smoke, going towards where two of them were positioned, grabbing them swiftly and teleporting them down to the bottom of the other side as he watched the whole thing start to collapse. 

 

When it was clear that they were both all right, Kurt looked at the audience, grabbing a microphone from the announcer, who was clearly too shocked to reply. 

 

“Do not worry. Everyone is all right. Simply a new climax we are experimenting with-” But then Kurt was stopped when he heard something from the audience. 

 

_ Freak,  _ and then almost immediately after that,  _ mutant. Mutie. Genejoke.  _ Other things, both vile curses and religious epithets.  _ Devil-spawn  _ didn’t take long to follow and just after that, the violence started, as large parts of the audience erupted, throwing beer bottles and anything else they had on hand onto the stage. 

 

“Run.” Kurt told the others. “Go inside.” He started to make a run for it himself, going down onto all fours and loping inside faster than ever. The violence outside, however, seemed to follow them, as no doubt, the audience was starting to burst through the doors to the backstage. 

“Neo-Nazi scumbags.” He heard Big Hans growl as he pushed a heavy bookcase in the way of the door, and once he had done that, pick up a piece of piping. 

 

“... how did they know? I didn’t, I’ve never told anyone.” Kurt looked stunned. He saw the ringmaster going up and down, making sure he had everyone counted and then run up to Kurt. 

 

“It’s fine, it’ll be okay. The police will arrive and it’ll all blow over. Maybe we have to relocate. I hear Stuttgart is nice.” He shook his head. “It’s going to be okay-” 

 

Kurt looked over at the huddling crowd of circus performers, fear etched on their faces.  _ My God, this is my fault.  _ And then something else struck him like a thunderbolt.  _ Stefan. Where is he.  _ Before the ringmaster or Big Hans or anyone else could say anything, he disappeared, to go back into the chaotic fray, where the hoodlums were tearing up the stage and much of the backstage areas. It was there that he saw Stefan, on his knees, with a man pointing a gun at his head. 

 

“Where’s your brother?” The man, a sneering monstrosity nearly the size of Big Hans asked pointedly. “Tell me where the little freak is and we’ll stop. Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

 

Stefan blubbered something almost incoherently and the big man pistol-whipped him hard enough to send him to the ground before Kurt burst onto the scene in a whiff of brimstone. Big as the man was, it was Kurt who had the greater momentum, knocking him down to the ground easily and pinning him under strong arms. 

 

“Leave this place.” Kurt growled with an anger he didn’t even know he had inside him. And then he crashed his fist into the big man’s ugly face, harder than he’d ever punched anything in his life- he could feel the wet crunch of cartilage and bone as he shattered the man’s nose. He punched him once again and then jumped off as more of the man’s fellow thugs came onto the scene. 

 

They immediately went after him, but Kurt was ready and disappeared into a puff of smoke, appearing some ten feet above two of them, his feet crashing into them hard, and then using the momentum to jump into the air and kick at a third man, big feet landing squarely in their chest, knocking them to the ground. But there were a lot of them, and Kurt felt a hard, painful impact in his lower back, sending him sprawling to the ground, wheezing.  _ Baseball bat …  _ and he could feel wetness welling up from several cuts in his back. The thug who’d hit him, grinning, holding a bat wrapped up in barbed wire, smeared liberally with his blood. Time seemed to slow down into nothingness again. 

 

“Kurt!” He heard Stefan yelling, “Kurt I didn’t mean for this to happen, I was just jealous, I thought that-” He was cut off by a horrific loud noise and he saw Stefan crumple to the ground in a heap and his heart stopped and he was ready to accept whatever was coming to him because he’d failed Stefan and then he heard another noise, a cracking thunder sound as loud as the gunshot which blasted the gunman and several others away in a tide of searing red energy that sent them slamming into the wall. Several other thugs were knocked to the ground by what seemed like an giant invisible fist slamming into them from above. 

 

“... what?” Kurt managed to mumble as he shakily got up to his feet, only to find himself supported by the young man from before, though now he was wearing a visor, rather than the red glasses from before. 

 

The next thing that happened was that the entire room seemed to go completely still, the thugs seemingly losing all recollection of why they were there. All of them murmured in unison that they had to walk to the nearest police station to turn themselves in peacefully for disturbing the peace. As the previously violent thugs wandered aimlessly out of the scene, save for a few who were unconscious, he went back over to where Stefan was. 

 

The redhead looked up from where she was beside him, tears in her eyes and shook her head.  _ I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m so sorry.  _

 

“No … he’s not, he’s not, he just needs, if we can get him to the hospital, they have surgeons, I can give him blood, I can-” He ran over to Stefan and, from the front, the hole looked small, he’d heard of people coming back from being shot there, he really had- even of people making full recoveries. But then his fingers felt the  _ back  _ of Stefan’s head and it was a  _ horror  _ and Kurt  _ knew  _ that there was nothing that could be done. When he pulled back, what he could see on his hands made him faint and nauseous and tremble in terror and rage and sadness. 

 

And more than anything, Kurt Wagner wanted to escape and go far, far away. When the bald man in the wheelchair showed up promising just that, he’d accepted in a heartbeat. 

 

There was nothing for him at the circus anymore. 


	7. The Fiery Young Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after Kurt Wagner's disastrous first contact mission, Jean Grey finds herself training with Professor Lehnsherr. Hideous traumas, both old and new, come up and Jean finds a mysterious source of power within herself.

_Forgive me, Kurt, please._

 

Stefan Wagner’s dying thoughts echoed about in Jean Grey’s brain, in a constant loop in the background, coming to the forefront whenever she had a moment to herself. The mingled jealousy, self-hatred and deep-seated guilt had now very nearly become hers and it hurt a little to even look at Kurt, which made her feel even worse, because he needed a friend, needed someone to reach out to desperately. The fact that it was difficult to be around him, that she couldn’t even glimpse him without getting Stefan’s toxic blend of emotions, mixed with the incredible, overwhelming feeling of death, made her feel vile, unclean. She felt Stefan’s guilt and also the jealousy and anger that had brought him to such a desperate situation.

 

Jean took a small breath and walked into the cold and blank room- at least here there wasn’t the smell of blood and death, and the only psychic pain that she could feel was her own. It was called the Danger Room- and she’d long since learned not to take it lightly, but today it was strangely comforting. Powers training felt like something, maybe, that she could do, a singular task that she could focus on. She knew that she could have cancelled without any difficulty, considering the circumstances.

 

But what was she going to do with herself? Really? Sit in her room and mope? Pretend that everything was alright and hang out with Wanda or go see Scott? The first, wasn’t something that was really in her character, and the second would have been desperately dishonest. _Besides, it would be unfair to either of them to put my problems on them. They’ve got enough of their own issues._ She knew for a fact that Scott was blaming himself for what happened- he’d always been far too hard on himself. Perhaps later she would go talk to him, lean into his arms and act like it was all right. Jean knew for a fact, though, that she could not be remotely that generous right now.

 

Professor Lehnsherr waited quietly as she walked into the room, with a series of heavy steel weights arrayed around him. Though not typically a man known for his generous smiles, there was a particularly serious air about the Professor today. She couldn’t really read his thoughts- his mind had always felt like static on old television sets, but it wasn’t difficult for her to pick up the suppressed anger in his eyes, along with what she imagined could have been concern. She knew that Charles and Professor Lehnsherr had been fighting not too long ago, over the fallout of the hideously failed contact of Kurt. She knew that Professor Lehnsherr wanted to push for more active combat training. Charles, thus far, had resisted that.

 

“Are you certain you’re up to this? It’s quite all right if you don’t feel you can train today.” What she was pretty sure that Professor Lehnsherr meant, but didn’t say, was that, if she did agree to training, that he wasn’t going to hold back artificially on her. This was a difficult exercise that had her directly matching the strength of her telekinesis against his immense power over magnetism.

 

It practically went without saying that Jean had never won this struggle- indeed, she’d never really even made Professor Lehnsherr break a sweat. The real challenge for her, of course, was to exert more force on the object to lift it than previously, to test the growing strength of her telekinetic powers. When she had started, she’d barely been able to put more than a hundred pounds of force into lifting the object. A few years later, she was able to put nearly seven times that level and all indications were that her power was only growing.

 

Seven hundred pounds, however, was a paltry thing compared to what Professor Lehnsherr himself could manifest- the amount of metal that he could manipulate with his powers could only be measured in tons, probably tens of tons. She’d seen the ridiculous ease with which Professor Lehnsherr could throw gigantic bricks of metal- the largest one they had weighed as much as a tank. Jean remembered him lifting the colossal weight without any particularly great sign of strain- no more than she’d experience during a light workout, and then shape and mold that weight into a thin metal dome. She’d stared goggle-eyed at it, wondering if she could ever attain that sort of power and control.

 

“Jean.” Professor Lehnsherr spoke again, in a deep, warm voice that clearly belonged to Central Europe, but not quite recognizably to any single country. “If you’re going to practice, you’re going to have to _focus.”_ His tone wasn’t entirely unkind, but it was clear that she would have to be able to focus far, far more intently if training were to go ahead.

 

“Yes, Professor.” Jean replied, perhaps a touch more snippily than she normally would have. For his part, Lehnsherr seemed to let it slide. She took a deep breath and began reaching out with an invisible net, wrapping itself around the object, sliding around it, almost embracing it. She then began to lift upwards with her mind. The metallic lump began to shift slightly and then suddenly, it became still again and she felt another force, pressing down. _Professor Lehnsherr has started._

 

Jean reached out with her hand- even though it shouldn’t have made any difference, she’d found very early on that gestures focused her actions, allowed her to channel her power more effectively. She’d seen Professor Lehnsherr do the same on occasion, but thus far, he had no need to. _Focus. There is nothing here but that lump of metal. Put everything into it._ She knew that the force she was putting into it was increasing, but so was Professor Lehnsherr’s and his without any discernable effort.

 

She wanted to focus, to let everything else go completely and focus her power entirely open lifting the object, but, unbidden, the images kept flickering into her brain. The vile chanting of the bigots at the circus, the breakdown of order and the beginning of the violence, her and Scott being forced to use their powers for combat, to get to Kurt. Seeing … seeing his brother fall, feeling his dying thoughts, seeing the blood and bone and little bits of brain, Kurt desperately cradling his brother and trying, praying, hoping in vain that something could be done. Kurt’s anguished, despairing thoughts rattling about in her mind. The overwhelming sense of failure that came off both Professor Xavier and Scott. The little shards of Stefan’s thoughts remaining in her brain as indeed they still were- his dying thoughts, his guilt, his anger, jealousy, pain, a love that was twisted and sick but still very real. It was all with her and she couldn’t do anything about it.

 

It made her think of Annie.

 

Jean had been twelve when it happened, when the red car hurtled into their vehicle, smashing into the right passenger’s side. She remembered the terror, the acrid feeling of fear as she saw the car heading towards her, Annie’s father desperately trying to swerve away from the vehicle into the ditch. She remembered the bone-rattling impact and being hurled headlong off the road, blacking out.

 

She had awoken to the smell of leaking fuel, twisted metal and blood- of a rattling pain in her chest as she breathed- she had broken several ribs going into the ditch. She remembered another scent too, one that she couldn’t place at the time but knew was death- Annie’s father had been killed in the crash, his neck broken. His death, at least, was swift. Jean remembered briefly being scared that she herself would die, but there was something about the bright, alive pain that had quickly convinced her otherwise. _Dying people don’t hurt so much, right?_

 

Jean remembered calling out softly, in a whisper to Annie, who had been in the front of the car, where the other vehicle had hit. She didn’t hear anything- it was then that she undid her seat belt and leaned over, every tiny movement causing a new stab of pain, to see her friend, slumped against the dashboard. She remembered seeing Annie breathing slowly, and then it was- it was _right then,_ in Annie’s moment of agony that Jean’s mind was opened and she could feel it all pouring in.

 

Annie was dying. She knew she was dying too- bleeding to death on the inside, bones broken and organs mashed in ways that weren’t visible from the outside. The pain was horrifying enough, but so much worse was the terror and the indescribable sadness- the knowledge that she would never see or feel anything else, that her life was over. Annie’s death came into her mind first as a trickle and then as a flood, everything blotting out any of her other thoughts and then she remembered screaming and then it was all blank, where it would remain, she would find out, for months.

 

She’d only later find out that in her agony, in her moment of negative rapture, that she’d blown out the vehicle with her telekinesis.

 

“If you’re not going to focus, Jean, then I don’t see any point in having this exercise.” Professor Lehnsherr’s voice snapped her back to reality.

 

Jean found herself almost indescribably angry at him- that he’d drag her out her in the first place, only to berate her for a lack of focus like she was texting in his physics class. She glared at him as hard as she could and thought _fuck you_ to herself and felt her face turn nearly as red as her hair. _Fuck you and your cold attitude and fuck you and this stupid fucking lump of metal._ Jean reached out with both hands and seized hold of the metallic cube and started to push it upwards.

 

“Now, that’s a little better.” Erik replied, his lips parting into a thin smile. “Come on. I’m sure you can push harder. All that anger has to be worth _something_.”

 

 _He’s taunting me,_ Jean realized and her building anger curled into genuine rage. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that disgusting smile off his face forever.

 

In response she pushed almost violently with her hand and the object actually started rattling again before Professor Lehnsherr shut that down with his own power. Jean didn’t give up, and instead, gritted her teeth and pushed again, harder- harder than she ever had before, harder than she thought she _could,_ with everything that she had, just so she could wipe that condescending smirk off of Professor Lehnsherr’s face. The metallic object pushed forward this time, not upwards, but straight at Professor Lehnsherr, who had to reach out with a hand and stop it.

 

“Much better.” Lehnsherr replied and she swore she could see real effort etched into his face, though he managed to stop it and push it towards her. “But as I recall, the exercise was to move this upwards. But perhaps a change of the game is in order. Try to stop me from touching you with this.” He started walking forward, the metallic cube moving forward with him.

 

Jean pushed back but she found that all she could do was slow him very slightly- and the metallic cube got closer and closer to her and something _snapped_ inside and all she could see was a red car. And at first she felt her efforts slacken as fear stabbed into her, but then she felt something else, something hot and angry and alive, deep down inside herself and she thrust her hands forwards, her palms nearly brushing against the cube. And this time, the metallic cube hurtled back towards Professor Lehnsherr, who didn’t stop it so much as he forced the cube apart before it hit him.

 

They both found themselves on the floor afterwards, Professor Lehnsherr having been knocked to the ground while ripping the cube apart, Jean herself slumping to the ground and feeling exhausted on a truly primordial level. Professor Lehnsherr’s eyes were wide, regarding her as he got to his feet.

 

“You’ve never shown such power before … that was astonishing. Truly amazing. You nearly had me there.” Lehnsherr’s hand went to his brow, where sweat had started to gather. “I’ll be very curious to know what the device reads.” He got up to his feet and went over to Jean to offer his hand to help her up, as if she were some lady who’d fallen over her ballgown.

 

“I hate you.” Jean heard herself replying, her tone soft, but the glare accompanying it withering. She pointedly refused his assistance and got to her feet.

 

“Jean …” Professor Lehnsherr replied, as if this were something he simply needed to explain properly to her. “Perhaps it was a mistake to press so hard. But look what you’ve accomplished. Cerebro, what was the reading on Jean’s psi-force?”

 

“The telekinetic force output exceeded the calibration of the sensors, which were set to a maximum of ten tons.” Cerebro explained in a cool, feminine voice. “Estimation is that maximum force was exceeded by at least two times. Shall I recalibrate the sensors for a higher level of output?”

 

“Indeed.” Professor Lehnsherr replied and then looked towards Jean. “Your previous record was seven hundred thirty-five pounds. Charles said you had great potential. I have to admit, I never quite believed him.”

 

Jean stared at him in disbelief. “I’m never training with you again, Professor Lehnsherr.”

 

“Jean. You’re angry. Understandably so. Take some time. Speak to Charles.” Professor Lehnsherr, so used to getting his way, looked slightly shaken by the notion that Jean might even temporarily think to stop training with him. “Come on.” He stepped towards her and put his hand softly on her arm.

  
Jean wrenched out of his grasp as swiftly as she could- she wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face, but even in her anger, she knew that would be an extremely bad idea. “Don’t touch me. What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” She stood stiffly, glaring at him as venomously as she could.

 

Professor Lehnsherr’s face hardened and his eyes took on a cold, imperious light that couldn’t help but frighten her a little, to shake her angry resolve to its core. “I know your pain better than you might think, Jean Grey. That is why I am permitting your little outburst, for _now._ In any case, I’m not the monster here. They are. _They_ are.”

 

“... you’re talking about the bigots at the circus.” Jean replied, the strength of her rage dissipating into mere sullenness as the adrenaline and whatever _else_ that hot, fiery thing inside of her was slowly faded out of her system.

 

Professor Lehnsherr’s expression softened a little, though there was still a hardness not far under the surface. She found herself wishing that she could read his thoughts, but his mind had always felt like angry static- it gave her a headache even trying and he’d detected her more than once in the past, when she was younger. _Then again, it’s probably better that I don’t know._ Jean kept glaring at him, but she knew that she wasn’t likely going to win a real contest of the wills.

 

“... Jean.” Professor’s Lehnsherr’s voice actually sounded soft, his normal cool steely baritone wrapped around soft velvet. It had always been striking to her how easily he could modulate his tone and his expressions- like a chameleon trying on different colours. It was, in a way, visibly impressive, but she wondered how genuine any of his expressed emotions were. It made it very, very difficult for him to really trust him- probably impossible now. “I’m truly sorry that you had to see something like that- particularly with your abilities. I truly wish I could say that it won’t happen again. Charles believes we can live together in peace- I hope he is right, but I fear that is unlikely.”

 

“... you think there’s a war coming.” Jean finished his thought for him.

 

“Perhaps it can be avoided, but we should be prepared for it nevertheless. Charles has agreed to more … comprehensive training.” Professor Lehnsherr replied. “And we won’t be sending out students on contact missions anymore. That was a grievous mistake.” He paused for a moment. “We live in interesting times, Miss Grey.”

 

Jean realized right then and there, that Professor Lehnsherr believed that war was inevitable. What she was unsure of was whether he was looking forward to it or not.

 


	8. The Man of Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piotr Rasputin is a good man in a bad situation, forced to work for the Russian Mob in order to provide for and protect his family. But when a mysterious and powerful individual acquires his services, is it a welcome liberation or is Piotr being sold into an infinitely more dangerous servitude?

“I told you that I didn’t want to work for you anymore.” Piotr insisted, pointedly not touching the vodka that had been offered to him. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything- you know that. And I’m not going to work for Abramovitch, either. I just want out.” The young man fairly towered over the Roman, who could not have been any taller than average.

 

“It is not that simple, my young friend.” The Roman chuckled faintly, dark eyes twinkling in amusement. “One does not simply _leave_ my employ as if it were some McDonald’s restaurant. Besides, why this sudden hesitation? I treat you well, Piotr. You are paid well for your … unique services.” He leaned forward slightly. “I keep your family safe. Aren’t you concerned for them? Especially after what happened to Mikhail? You know how it is.”

 

Piotr’s expression hardened when the Roman mentioned his family- the boss had been careful to keep his tone neutral, even a touch concerned, but he knew the subtext. There was a distinct possibility that Abramovitch would continue targeting his family- after all, he had caused their operations some considerable damage, and even if he decided not to, the Roman was not above threatening his mother and Illyana to get a point across. There was also the brute reality that his family needed money, badly. His mother was a surgeon, but state salaries were low. And Illyana … he wanted more than anything to keep her far away from all this. He’d seen enough to know what would happen to her.

 

“But as it happens … you may get your request after all. I have been speaking to a man from America.” He leaned forward. “You say you want out- you and your family. As sad as I am to see you go, this American, he made me a very, very good offer. Worth millions. And what he wants is your service. He would even allow you to take your family with you.”

 

“I want _out.”_ Piotr replied. “I do not wish to work for anyone. I don’t want to be some American associate’s muscle. I don’t wish to be anyone’s muscle at all.”

 

The Roman’s studied neutral expression changed into something like disappointment. “I was hoping that you’d agree to this readily. Perhaps, though, I know what is good for you better than you do yourself. Let me be clear, Piotr, you are going to America with this man. You can do so willingly and with my blessing, or I will find means of forcing you there. Or ... “ He smiled in a thin, predatory way. “He will. This man he is very powerful. I have a very great respect for him and you should know that does not come easily.”

 

His expression widened into a nearly savage grin. “As it happens, though, you will be meeting him soon. He is coming here. He’s very eager to meet his newest employee. And God above, drink the vodka. You embarrass me- why would I poison it? You’re only worth anything to anyone alive. Dead? Nothing.”

 

Piotr reached out sullenly to take the glass of vodka offered to him, drinking the cold, but fiery liquid down in one go and placing the empty glass on the table. He could feel the warmth from the vodka slide down his throat and fill his body. The Roman smiled faintly and refilled his glass with more of it. _There is little point in facing this sober. I might as well drink some of his good vodka before he ships me off. Or perhaps I’ll get the courage to end him._ The Roman’s guards were outside and they could do nothing if Piotr decided to attack him. Their bullets would bounce off his armoured hide.

 

But such violence wasn’t really in Piotr’s nature- that was why he’d been so reluctant to come and work for the Roman. It had only been when he’d seen the hopeless debt that his family was in that he’d reluctantly agreed to come do the Roman’s bidding. His mother had begged him not to go to the Roman. But she’d also accepted the money he’d brought home and not asked questions about what he’d done. _What kind of country do we live in, that we just accept these things? Maybe America would be better after all, even working with whomever this man is._

 

“Much better.” The Roman replied. “There’s no reason we can’t just talk about this like civilized men. You say you want out- and here you are. Out. If you’re really so eager to stop working for me, you should be grateful.” He laughed. “Let me tell you, this man has paid very generously for the privilege. Cash. Some favours. Goods. Very fine ones, too. He should be here any moment now.” Just then his phone beeped and the Roman looked at it. “Ah, he’s on his way right now. Passing security.”

 

 _Goods._ Piotr’s teeth clenched at the mention of that- there were only two things he could think of that would make the Roman so happy. Either some manner of new drug, or weapons. He tended to assume that it was the latter. Russia was a producer, not an importer- there was enough heroin in Russia to drown the world. Cocaine, perhaps, or some manner of laboratory-produced drug. But if Piotr were to guess, he would imagine it was weaponry. The Mob could acquire weapons from stores inside Russia, but American-made weapons were a sign of status and, practically speaking, they always worked better, especially if he’d found some man who was able to procure Stark Enterprises or Shaw Industries munitions.

 

“Perhaps you are right.” Piotr added mildly, sipping the vodka this time. “It seems that I have little choice anyway.” He may have been forced, more or less to accept what the Roman had planned for him, for his family’s sake if nothing else, but he didn’t have to pretend to like it.

 

“You always have choices.” The Roman replied. “But perhaps this one is a little .. obvious.” He laughed softly and the phone buzzed again. “Ah. He’s here.”

 

On signal, the door opened and three people walked into the room, two young women and a somewhat older man between them. Piotr turned slightly to size them up- the two women were beautiful, one blonde and as flawlessly perfect as an American Barbie doll, the other with raven dark hair and almost alabaster white skin. They wore matching coats, expensive ones that were probably made by top designers in Moscow, which the Roman’s men promptly removed for them to reveal slinky, revealing evening gowns. Eying their curves made Piotr wish for a brush and some paints- either would make fine subjects.

 

The man in between them at first glimpse looked relatively unremarkable- fairly tall and broad, probably somewhere in his forties, Piotr supposed. He wore a pair of small eyeglasses, though Piotr with his trained eye could immediately tell they were cosmetic. _Many men try to look more intimidating. This one tries very hard to look less so._ And when the man moved, it was with a strange, almost feline grace- distinctly unnatural. The blonde woman, for her part, moved with slightly exaggerated movements, hips swaying ever so slightly- obviously playing up her considerable sex appeal. The darker-haired woman on the other hand moved very efficiently and though he couldn’t see her eyes underneath the dark shades she wore, he could tell she was sizing up the room.

 

“Ah, Sebastian. So good of you to come. And such beautiful woman too, I will have to make their acquaintence as well, I think.” The Roman grinned and got up, probably intend on exchanging handshakes with Sebastian and little kisses with the girls. He noticed that the two women did so just a little condescendingly, as if they considered themselves above her. Piotr also noticed that the Roman was making no effort to dominate the room, quietly or otherwise. Indeed, the man seemed just slightly tense.

 

“Of course.” Sebastian replied and sat down, slouching into the chair like some manner of reclining tiger, the women staying close to him. The Roman poured drinks for him and his women, as if he were some waiter at a club. Piotr was almost dumbstruck at how quickly the Roman’s power and authority seemed to melt away before this man. _Who is this man who would intimidate the Roman so effortlessly?_ Sebastian then seemed to have a thought. “Nikolai? If you would leave us with Piotr for a moment. I’d like to talk to him privately.”

 

The Roman looked surprised for a moment- hardly anyone, not even his mistresses called him Nikolai, but he seemed to think better of any defiance and simply nodded. “Of course. Piotr, we will speak again before you go.” He left the room and as soon as the door closed, Sebastian got up from his seat and sat down in the Roman’s own chair, gesturing for his women to join him, which they did, the blonde leaning against his chair from the right, and the dark-haired one settling behind him.

 

“Piotr Rasputin.” Sebastian said, savoring each syllable slowly as he downed the vodka in a single go without flinching. “Ah, it’s unfortunate that we need to meet under these circumstances. And with such mediocre drink as well. Bah. Not a decent scotch or brandy to be seen here. Not even any good wine, I imagine. How do you Russians endure your cold winters like that?” He laughed bawdily. “You must be very curious about this strange American with the beautiful women who has come to snap you up and take you across the sea.”

 

“You could say that, I suppose.” Piotr replied, with a measured tone. He didn’t quite like the way that the two woman were looking at him either, like they were looking through him, into his very soul. He got the distinct impression that they weren’t simply eye candy, however fetchingly they may be dressed. And the expressions they bore were both cold- the blonde wore one that was haughty and arrogant, the raven-haired woman one that was almost mechanical, coolly analytical.

 

“My name, boy, is Sebastian Shaw. And I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse, so you might as well not even try.” Sebastian laughed but there was something hideous and terrifying in his eyes and Piotr dared not say anything back. “But there’s no reason to, because I’m going to make all of the problems in your life disappear. I know all about you, your life. You fear for your family. You want out of this barbaric cold wasteland you call a country. You have dreams. Talents, both obvious and hidden. A potential that is being sadly wasted.”

 

“What do you want of me?” Piotr replied, in an even tone, but wanting to get straight to business. Even if he didn’t have a choice, he wanted to know what he was getting into.

 

“Your loyal service. Your strength.” Sebastian replied. “And in return for your loyal service, you will have everything you ever desired. Security for your family- more than that. Wealth. Power.” He smiled thinly, vaguely indicating the two women. “Pleasure.”

 

It was then that something clicked for Piotr. _Shaw Industries._ “You own Shaw Industries.” Piotr replied. “You will forgive me, but this does not seem like something a corporate leader would do.”

 

“That, Piotr Rasputin, is only one of the many masks we wear.” The blonde answered, in a crisp tone. _There are other ones that are more relevant to you personally,_ Piotr heard clearly, inside his own mind. He couldn’t help but jump slightly at that, startled by the sudden mental intrusion.

 

“I take it you are unfamiliar with telepathy.” Sebastian replied with a faint smirk, watching his reaction with distinct interest. “Only one of Emma’s many talents, I assure you. Tessa here has her own, of course. I now know more about your mutant abilities than you do.”

 

“Are you a mutant as well?” Piotr asked quietly, though he suspected he knew what the answer was. He doubted that any man without his own superhuman abilities would feel so comfortable around powerful individuals. Sebastian knew his powers and yet was visibly and totally unintimidated by them. _These are extremely dangerous people, even if I do not like it, it is best to do what they want. For my family as well. I have to protect them as best I can._

 

“You’re not wrong, Piotr. We are dangerous people. As are you.” Sebastian replied, as soon as he’d thought it. _Is he able to read minds as well or is Emma giving him what I’m thinking. Or the other woman for that matter?_ “That is something we have in common, as mutants. Which is why people like us, Piotr, should stick close together, don’t you think?”

 

“I suppose so.” Piotr replied neutrally. “What is it you want? I understand why you want me, but what is your goal? You are already rich and powerful.”

 

“In brief? The world.” Sebastian replied with a long, hearty laugh, one that made a distinct chill go down Piotr’s spine. Sebastian then grinned at him almost ferally and leaned in a little closer. “We are a new race, Piotr. A new and better species that deserves to _rule._ I intend to gather the mutants of the world, the promising ones at least, and together, we will create a new order that will grow inside the existing one, slowly, and without the humans noticing them. These … these mobsters, Piotr, they treat you like a servant. An errand boy. I won’t lie and say that I do not desire your services as well, but make no mistake. You will be among the elite in the new world. All I need is your loyalty. A small price, I think, for everything you’ve ever dreamed. Even the things you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself you’ve wanted.”

 

Piotr took a breath, trying to keep his thoughts as clear as possible. “When will you want me to leave?”

 

“Tonight.” Sebastian replied. “We will send for your family as soon as possible. It should not take long. The Russian government is astonishingly pliable.”

 

“... if they stay here, how can I be sure that they will be safe?” Piotr replied. He knew that he couldn’t meaningfully resist the man, but he could at least insist on what was truly important to him. “If you know so much about me, you know that there are people that would seek to harm them. They will come with me. I will go work for you, but only when they can come for me.”

 

Sebastian’s eyebrow raised for a second, but then Piotr caught the tiniest gesture of the dark-haired woman towards him and he seemed to catch himself before getting angry.

 

“Of course. Understandable. They will be able to come with us.” He looked up at where Tessa was. “See to the arrangements.”

 

“Of course, Sebastian.” Tessa replied in a totally emotionless tone. “It will be easy to arrange.”

 

Sebastian leaned across the table towards Piotr. “It is agreed, then? You will come to America with us and join me.” He smiled faintly at Piotr. “Serve me loyally and you’ll have anything you’ve ever wanted. I promise.”

 

Piotr reached out a little slowly to shake the man’s hand, surprised at just how strong the man’s grip was- just this side of being actually painful. Sebastian’s faint smile turned into a predatory grin and in that moment, he was reminded of an old painting of the Devil. _Out of the frying pan and into the fires of hell. But what can I do? My family needs me._

 

_How did my life ever come to this?_

 


	9. The Girl in Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Jean have a heart to heart, in which they make surprising revelations to each other.
> 
> Also, they smoke weed. 
> 
> Also, Wanda is a Tool fan.

_I know the pieces fit, because I watched them fall away …_

 

Wanda Magda Lehnsherr turned up the volume and took another puff of the joint she rolled, inhaling the sweet, herby smell deep into her lungs. It wasn’t something she did all that often, but sometimes it felt good to relax, to let her mind go a little bit, to stop seeing the seams and cracks in the universe around her all the time.

 

Wanda lay on her back and looked up at the night sky, at the infinite dance of the stars and planets and wished that she could get up and leave the planet and soar among them. It was a nice thought, dreaming of just flying through the galaxy, but she knew it would never be, that even if it did, many of her problems would soar alongside her. Besides, she couldn’t leave Pietro, not with her father becoming even harsher and more distant towards him, nor could she leave Scott, who desperately needed someone who treated him like an ordinary person.

 

And Jean, how could she ever leave Jean Grey? _Maybe I’d just take her with me. We could fuck off the planet and just fly away together._

 

She wondered if Jean might not welcome that- considering everything she’d gone through in the last week or so, with the contact mission and earlier today, with her asshole father trying to goad her into showing the true extent of her powers. Wanda could have slapped Father for that, wanted to say a million angry things, but found she was too upset for words. _Jean needs some fucking support, not some drill sargeant bullshit._ Her anger faded away in her mind into deep empathetic pain. Wanda sat up again and took another drag off her joint.

 

Wanda lay back again and took a deep breath, trying to relax. She wondered what Jean was up to- hopefully out with Scott or something. Both of them needed to get out and do something fun and normal. Scott didn’t show it as much, but she knew better than to think that he was all right. How could he be? _The day that we learn to accept what went down in Germany that night as some sort of fucking normal is the day we completely give up._ She just hoped that they could open up a little bit around each other, both of them could be pretty guarded with their vulnerabilities- not that she could blame them, seeing as she was hardly open with hers.

 

The more she thought about it actually, the more she thought that they all needed to stop what they were doing and go do something normal for a week or so. Wanda wondered if maybe, if people had a chance to step away from the insanity that was quickly becoming their lives, if they could maybe approach those things rationally. And perhaps, just perhaps, avoid some sort of terrible catastrophe. She knew that something bad was coming, could smell it in the air.

 

What really scared Wanda was what that inevitable disaster meant for them- would her father and Uncle Charles split ways? Where would everyone end up going? What would happen to the school? And once removed from the school environment, what would her father end up doing? Wanda could sense his attitudes hardening in the last while, with every news story about the so-called mutant menace and even more so with the events that had happened in Germany. _And I can’t blame him one bit for his anger, even if I hate how it manifests in him being cruel and heartless to everyone._

 

It was then that Wanda sensed someone settling beside her and she sat up to see Jean next to her on the blanket she’d set out, hugging her knees close to her. It didn’t require any great deductions for Wanda to know that her friend was in a great deal of pain. She slid the headphones off and sat up, turning to face Jean.

 

“Your father is an asshole.” Jean announced sadly and slumped her head against Wanda’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah, he’s a real cunt.” Wanda agreed softly, shifting slightly so Jean would be more comfortable. “How are you doing with everything?”

 

“Shitty.” Jean answered with an honesty that looked downright painful for her. “I keep seeing it in my head. I keep feeling it in my mind. I can’t escape it. I know I should go talk to the Professor about it, but it’s like, I don’t want him to feel that either. He’s got enough to deal with …”

 

“Jean.” Wanda looked over at her, speaking kindly but firmly. “You need to get that poison out of your system. You can’t just keep it inside. Don’t do it, okay?”

 

“But if I do … I feel like I’m carrying around the last bits of a person in my mind. And once I let go of that, they’ll truly be dead and gone.” Jean nestled in a little closer, and then paused for a moment. “Did your father talk about the training exercise?”

 

“A little.” Wanda admitted. “But he isn’t going to be giving me all the details. Not if it makes him look bad.”

 

“It … it wasn’t actually all bad. I mean, it was terrible and your father is an asshole. But there was something that I felt, that I can’t really put my finger on. Something fiery. Not just anger.” Jean paused for a moment, and looked up at Wanda. “I nearly beat him.” She managed a faint smile. “That felt pretty awesome.”

 

“Really?” Wanda considered that fact for a moment and then grinned. “Well, holy shit, congratulations. Which doesn’t, you know, make up for him being a dickbutt, but that’s amazing. Though, honestly, I’m not surprised. You are super powerful, Jean. And not just mutant powerful. You’re way the fuck stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Wanda really, really hoped that Jean would internalize that a little bit, that she would recognize her own strength and mobilize it. Wanda was pretty convinced there was nothing that Jean couldn’t do if she set her mind and her heart to it.

 

“Thank you.” Jean replied softly and then moved away for a moment so she could face Wanda more fully. She brushed some of her hair out of her face and gave a little nervous laugh. “Um, Wanda?” She hesitated for a moment and gave a little nervous chuckle.

 

“Yeah, Jean?” Wanda replied, raising her eyebrow a little bit. “C’mon. You don’t need to get all hesitant with me. It’s me. Just say it.” She smiled warmly at Jean.

 

“... can I have some?” Jean asked, looking towards the joint that was still in Wanda’s hand. “I just really, really need to fucking relax some.”

 

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Jean to join Wanda when she snuck out to smoke, but she’d only partaken once or twice in the time she’d been there. She figured it had a lot to do with her upbringing, or perhaps it was just that Jean usually found other ways to relax. In any case, Wanda didn’t hesitate to pull out a fresh joint for Jean, lighting it and passing it over to her.

 

“Of course you can have some.” Wanda finally replied with a faint smirk on her face. “It’s actually pretty decent stuff too.”  

 

Jean took the joint gratefully and took a small puff of it- clearly a little unused to the act of smoking, but she was able to hold it in before inevitably coughing. _She does better than I did when I started, God, I used to have so much trouble holding it in._ But it was a good thing for her, it helped pull her out of whatever bullshit she had to deal with, whether it be with her family situation or whether it be with the bizarrely altered perception that came with her powers. Jean took a breath of fresh air and then another puff.

 

“Not bad.” Jean finally said, shaking her head and then she laughed a little tremulously. “Scott would be so pissed if he saw me smoking up.”

 

Wanda thought about it for a moment. “Maybe at first, but he’d understand. I mean, I wouldn’t get blazed and try to sneak up into his room or anything …”

 

Jean laughed more heartily at that. “Oh my god. That’d be such a disaster. He’s so sensitive to scents he has to use unscented deodorant. If I tried crawling in there smelling of weed he’d have a heart attack just from that. And honestly, to tell the truth, there hasn’t really been any … room-sneaking? He’d probably just be confused.”

 

“He probably _would._ ” Wanda snickered slightly. “Bless him, I love him, but he can be pretty clueless sometimes.” She took a puff and was more thoughtful for a moment. “But he’s a good man. Reliable as all fuck.”

 

“He’s wonderful.” Jean readily agreed with a disarmingly sweet smile and a little blush creeping up into her cheeks. “But sometimes he’s not very … he doesn’t always pick up signals very well.” She laughed. “It’s like … come on … just kiss me! And nope.”

 

“He’s probably terrified of overstepping.” Wanda replied. “And he’s afraid of good things in his life and ruining them. You ever try just kissing him? I mean, twenty-first century, right? Sometimes direct works.”

 

Jean laughed and took a puff. “Maybe. I mean, it’s just … it’s been a little harder lately with what happened.” She frowned a little. “I know he’s taking it hard, even more so because of what’s happening with me.”

 

“You two need to go on a normal date sometime and try to be normal, just for an evening. Go to a dumb movie, get a stupid burger, make out in the car, whatever. I mean, you both need to have long serious conversations about this stuff too, but you also need to have some _fun_ or you’re both going to go crazy.”

 

Jean nodded. “Maybe this weekend or something.” She smiled at Wanda fondly. “This is pretty good right now, though.” She took another puff and then coughed, which made them both laugh. “Feeling better than I have in a long while.”

 

“That’s me, Doctor Wanda. Ready to hook up all my friends with only the finest medicinal pharmaceuticals.” Wanda took another puff of hers, which was almost finished. “Well, if you don’t have any plans tonight, I’ve also got snacks and stuff. Because what the hell kind of stoner doesn’t have snacks?”

 

“Only if you don’t mind me stealing a bunch of them. I was so stressed I couldn’t properly eat at dinnertime.” Jean tried taking a slightly longer drag off the joint, which produced a bit of a coughing fit. “But seriously, thank you. For … you’re the best friend I ever had.”

 

Wanda reached out her hand and took Jean’s for a moment. “And that’ll always be true. No matter what happens, Jean. I got your back, I promise.” For some reason, Wanda felt a real urgency in saying that, as if something could happen any moment to test that in some terrible way.

 

Sometimes Wanda wondered if she was in love with Jean Grey herself- it was a question that she never really had a definitive answer to. It hadn’t stopped her from encouraging Jean and Scott to get together, because she knew they would make a good couple, that they’d be happy together and because she was pretty sure Jean didn’t go for girls in any way. But regardless about whether Wanda was _in_ love with Jean Grey, she unquestionably loved her, maybe more than anyone else she knew except Pietro. They’d formed an almost instant bond as soon as they’d met and become best friends almost immediately afterwards.

 

It’d been especially great for Wanda, because she’d always been with Pietro and her father. She’d had remarkably few opportunities to make friends with actual girls her age- as much as she adored Scott and Uncle Charles, they were in many ways, much the same there. And when she felt Jean squeeze her hand back softly, her heart couldn’t help but flutter a little. _Scott Summers, I hope you realize how incredibly lucky you are._ But deep down, she was pretty sure that he did.

 

They sat there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, finishing their joints and just enjoying each other’s company. Once they were done smoking, Wanda and Jean lay back on the blanket, looking up at the stars above them, stars that seemed even brighter in the slight mental fog from the weed. It was blessedly, almost completely quiet, with only some crickets and a distant owl to be heard, along with the ever-so-soft sound of their own breathing.

 

“Do you think there’s anything out there?” Jean finally asked quietly. “In the stars. I always dream about flying up into space.”

 

“Probably. It’s a pretty big fucking universe for us to be all alone. And we’re nowhere near the centre of everything. You have dreams about going up into space?” Wanda turned over slightly and watched Jean for a moment. “You know, I think about that too. Going away. Getting away from all this bullshit.”

 

“It’s … it’s not just about leaving stuff. Or escaping. It’s like I feel that there’s something out there that I need to find. And my dreams don’t end with me just being in space.” Jean went on for a moment, pausing as a blush crept up her cheeks and she looked very seriously at Wanda, perhaps a little exaggeratedly so. “I dream that I’m a goddess out there.” She laughed. “That sounds so dire and egotistical.”

 

Wanda rolled over to face Jean. “Not one bit. Maybe your dreams are trying to tell you something. I think you’re far too modest sometimes. You’re fucking incredible, Jean. You should wear that with pride.”

 

“... but I don’t actually want to be a goddess.” She paused for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d just said the truth about that. “I mean, I don’t want to be worshipped. Or pitied. Or anything like that. I just want friends. I want to be loved and liked and treated like a normal person. Not many people do that. I’m either on someone’s caseload or I’m being put on a pedestal.”

 

“Hey.” Wanda reached out to Jean, her hand brushing softly against Jean’s hair. “You know I’m not going to do that, right?”

 

“I do.” Jean smiled softly, her eyes half-closing under Wanda’s touch.

 

_Wanda?_

 

The soft thought floated about in her mind and sent butterflies going through her stomach- how could it not? She knew that Jean used her telepathy with people under precisely two conditions- dire necessity and deep intimacy. She knew that she often used it with Scott and not often with anyone else.

 

_Yes, Jean?_

 

_Are you in love with me, Wanda?_

 

Wanda lay there for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest, suddenly glad that they weren’t speaking verbally, because she doubted that she could form words of any sort at that moment. She also knew, with a real certainty at that point, that she was in love with Jean Grey, and that denying it or obtusficating the fact was just a nice way of lying about it.

 

_Yes._

 

_I love you too, but I also love Scott._

 

 _I know you do. It’s okay. I understand. I want you both to be happy. I love him too. Not like … not like I love you. But I do._ And even though it was sometimes hard to live up to it, that was a sincere sentiment. She really did want all of her friends to be happy.

 

It seemed like that would be a moment in which one or both of them would leave, either because it was too awkward or because their pride had been wounded. Wanda supposed a lot of people might have some sort of argument at this point. That wounds would be opened that were hard to close. But Jean didn’t move away from her, she moved _closer,_ and after a moment, Wanda slipped an arm around her.

 

About twenty minutes or so later, Wanda realized that Jean had fallen asleep and she couldn’t help but laugh softly. _Great. Now my arm is stuck._ She managed to reach over and grab her phone and the headphones she brought out, slipping them on and turning the volume up.

_… reaching out to embrace the random, reaching out to embrace whatever may come …_

 

 _A-fucking-men, Maynard._ Wanda closed her eyes and in her mind she saw her and Jean crossing the infinitude of space together. It was a nice thought, no matter how unrealistic. No matter how small the odds. Right now, in this one, tiny, blessed, moment, this moment she wanted to last _forever,_ they were together. And somehow, Wanda knew, they would be, no matter what happened with Scott.

 

_Love is a beautiful and complicated thing and it doesn’t have to be a zero-sum game._

  



	10. The Iceboy Cometh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby is an idiot, but thankfully a loveable one. 
> 
> He gets assigned by the Professor to show Kitty Pryde around the Mansion. It's infatuation at first sight. He ends up throwing a snowball at her.

Bobby was nervous.

 

He was nervous because the only time that Professor Xavier ever called him into his office was when he was in trouble for something- which to be fair, was pretty often, though he liked to point out he didn’t break any of the _big_ rules. Bobby just liked to play sweet pranks on people and laugh at that and usually, they’d end up laughing too, though sometimes it took some time later. In a few cases, it’d taken quite some time- like when he’d frozen the pool overnight and it was still ice cold when morning came and Jean had decided to go for a morning swim.

 

Bobby was a little confused about this particular instance of trouble though, because he couldn’t think of anything he’d pulled in the last few days, certainly not that would merit a visit to Professor Xavier’s office. He couldn’t see how creating faked footprints of the mysterious Westchester Bobcat would actually result in trouble, even if he’d led Warren on a bit of a goose chase to find the offending feline. And Bobby was fairly sure that Scott couldn’t even taste the Tabasco sauce in his coffee- that guy had nuked his taste buds a long time ago. But nervous though he might have been, one did not simply turn down the Professor when he told you to go into his office.

 

He walked down the, in his mind, ludicrously long hallway in the mansion that looked like it belonged in some period film- the place was almost absurdly empty, clearly built for a far larger number of occupants than the dozen or so people that actually lived there- with a few other people who came in for staff. Which was great for finding a place to hide, or for playing games of hide and seek, but it was kind of lonely looking sometimes. Besides, there were only a few girls and Jean was dating Scott and Wanda was older and a little scary and also he kinda thought she was into Jean. Actually, weirdly enough, Bobby thought that Jean was kind of into Wanda too. But then girl friendships were always weird and touchy.

 

So what he was thinking, was that it would be _really great_ if the new students included a bunch of cute girls. Because while there were nothing wrong with cool dudes, he didn’t want to kiss them or anything- nope, not a little bit. Not that there was anything wrong with dudes kissing other dudes, not anything at all, well, _he_ thought anyway- his father certainly thought otherwise, but he wasn’t one of those dudes. And any passing feelings to the contrary could be chalked up to adolescence and the usual confusion about that, right?

 

_I’m doing it again. Stop doing that, Bobby. Let’s find out what the Professor wants._

 

Bobby got to the door and knocked on it a little bit tentatively.

 

 _Come in, Robert._ The Professor’s psychic voice didn’t sound angry. Maybe that was a good sign, Bobby thought. It was possible after all that he was wanted for something that didn’t involve being in a lot of trouble. Such a thing would be a pretty great change, actually. Bobby decided to go on that theory.

 

When he opened the heavy oaken door and walked in, Professor Charles Xavier was sitting behind his desk and actually offered Bobby a faint smile, though even Bobby couldn’t help but notice how _tired_ Xavier looked. He looked like it’d been a couple of days since he’d shaved properly and there were big dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he was trying not to show how exhausted he was, but it was pretty obvious. It was also obvious that the Professor knew it was obvious, so Bobby tried not to think about it too much, lest he make the guy feel bad. He knew some seriously bad stuff had happened lately- the new kid was pretty obviously traumatized as heck and both Jean and Scott looked like they’d seen better days.

 

And the less said about Professor Lehnsherr’s mood, the better. Professor Lehnsherr had always been a little frightening, even if he was super handsome- not that Bobby noticed that too often, but these days there was an anger about him that seemed to rub off on basically everyone. It certainly made for an atmosphere which was desperately crying out for some sweet pranks, but at the same time, people seemed to appreciate them less when they were all stressed and angry and traumatized.

 

“I’m quite all right, Bobby.” Xavier replied, responding directly to his concerned thoughts. “Just a few nights of poor sleep. And firstly, you’re not in trouble. I’m well aware of your most recent pranks.” He chuckled a little wryly. “You’re not entirely wrong about Scott. He has strange notions about what constitutes a drinkable cup of coffee.”

 

“I know, right? Like, I tried some of that stuff once and I lost about a week of my life on the insane caffeine high. I dunno, Prof, I think Scott has a problem.” Bobby laughed, already feeling much more at ease about this.

 

“However, we’re not here to discuss my son’s taste in hot beverages. There’s something I would like you to do for me, Bobby. I would normally ask Scott or Jean, but as you know, they’re both under a considerable amount of stress. Wanda and Warren are both decidedly uninterested and Pietro is … undiplomatic at the best of times. Which leaves you, Mr. Drake.” The Professor grinned a little wryly. “I want you to welcome a new student to the Institute.”

 

“... oh, well, uh, sure I guess?” _Please let it be a cute girl. Please let it be a cute girl._

 

Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow and looked at Bobby for a moment. “Her name is Katherine Pryde. And I want her to feel as welcome here as possible. You can help her with her bags as needed, give her a tour- and do try to keep the pranks to a minimum.” He smiled again. “Your assistance is appreciated, of course.”

“Of course, Professor. I just have one question …” Bobby instinctively put up his hand, even though they weren’t in class. It wasn’t even him asking if she was cute. He swore it wasn’t.

 

Professor Xavier rolled his eyes. “Some nice slacks and a button-up shirt, perhaps. At the _very_ least, something that’s not wrinkled and smelling of a teenage boy’s room.” He pointedly refused to comment on whether she was cute or not, something that Bobby wasn’t sure about how to take. It could just have been that he found the question anoying. “I will also expect that you will bear yourself in all ways as a complete gentleman. But I do not expect I’ll have any difficulty with that.”

 

“Absolutely not, sir … I guess that means, um, no sweet pranks?” Bobby was a strong believer in clarification. Especially when it seemed like important business.

 

“No pranks.” Professor Xavier clarified, firmly. “You will be on your best behaviour.” Not even _you should be on your best behaviour-_ you will be on your best behaviour. The Professor wasn’t kidding around with this. “She will be arriving in about an hour. I suggest you get changed into something suitable for company. Thank you very much, Bobby. Once again, I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

 

“Hey, no problemo, Professor. I’m your man.” Bobby gave a little salute and jumped up out of the chair and went back up to his room to find some decent, non-rumpled clothes. Which meant that he had to cross another ridiculously huge length of hallway and up some stairs, all the way to the boy’s dorm, which of course, had to be on the top. And sure, there was an elevator, but using an elevator seemed really cheap and awful. Even if Bobby loved to bitch about taking the stairs all the time.

 

Once he arrived there, he realized that wouldn’t hurt to put in a little extra effort. It was quite possible that this ‘Kitty’ was a cute girl, and cute girls always merited a little extra effort. And when he thought about it, it would be mean not to even if she wasn’t that cute, because what sort of shallow asshole would he be to only put an effort in for girls he personally wanted to date? That would not do. Charles told him to be a gentleman, and he was going to stick to the word and letter of that.

 

Before Bobby knew it, he’d tried on five different outfits, put some stuff in his hair, had a shower, shaved- even though he really didn’t need to, judiciously put on a little bit of nice-smelly stuff because he had read that girls liked that and his best pair of shoes. Oh, and made sure that his breath was absolutely icy perfect, because there would be no _bearing_ the _complete and utter_ catastrophe that would ensue if for some astonishing reason, his breath was bad at an opportune moment. Gentlemen always made sure their breath was minty fresh. TV had taught Bobby Drake that at a very early age.

 

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and started trying out various postures, trying to find the one that was both the most gentlemanly and the coolest. It wouldn’t do after all, to look like some kind of complete nerd. The elusive cute girl probably wouldn’t go for that, unless she was a cute nerdy girl, which was entirely possible in which case he’d have to start talking about math or something. Or video games. He liked video games, and hopefully she liked video games too. Maybe they could play some video games. He wondered if it was wise to let her win or not. Magazines and the Internet seemed to have divergent opinions on that matter.

 

Bobby looked at the clock on his bedstand- he realized that Kitty was going to be arriving in five minutes. He raced down the stairs as quickly as he could, arriving at the front door just in time to hear the doorbell. His heart started hammering. His mouth went a little dry, and he swore he felt a little shaky, which was stupid, because he was just giving her a tour and making her feel welcome, not getting married. _Relax, Bobby, it’s fine, it’s no big deal._ He reached out his hand to open the door.

 

“Hi.” Said the absolute cutest of all cute girls- the platonic ideal of cute girls. He would have to thank Hank later for introducing him to the concept of the platonic ideal. Bobby’s heart went from beating a little faster to skipping a beat or two.

 

“Hey. Hi. I’m Bobby. Um. Come in. Welcome to Xavier’s. Can I help you with your bags?” Bobby blurted out in a torrent of words, hoping that some of them didn’t sound super stupid.

 

“I’m Kitty and sure. Thanks.” The sweetest angel in all of heaven smiled showing perfect pearly white teeth and passed him a bag. “Wow. This place is huge. My parents spent like five minutes going down the driveway. And from there it looks like some English palace.” She laughed softly and chocolate-brown curls bounced slightly with her laugh and warm brown eyes twinkled alongside it.

 

 _Attention Foreigner. I now know what love is._ Bobby thought as he took one of her bags. “Maybe we can take some stuff up to your room first and then I can give you a tour afterwards? It’s a pretty big place so there’s a lot to tour.”

 

“I bet. I thought it’d be smaller because Dr. Xavier said there’d only be like a dozen students.” She looked around. “You could play a hell of a game of hide and seek in here.”

 

_Oh my god she likes hide and seek. All stations report. This is a Perfect Girl alert._

 

“You have no idea.” Bobby replied with all the confidence he could muster. “It’s amazing. And if you never need to hide because a joke went bad or you just plain don’t feel like going to geography class, hey. There it is. A million hiding spots. But don’t actually do that because the Professor is telepathic and he can read your thoughts. But hide and seek? Awesome. Do you like videogames?”

 

“Of course I like video games. Who doesn’t?” Kitty replied, as if that was a universal constant and Bobby wished that it was, because that would be such a better world.

 

“Silly people who are dumb, that’s who.” Bobby replied with all the conviction in the world as he headed upstairs with her. “There’s actually an elevator, I guess, if you want to take that.”

 

“Pfft. Elevator. I’m fine.” Kitty smiled up and then as if to prove the point, quickly went past him on the stairs, with some sort of insane, well, cat-like grace that was sort of impossible not to watch. “So which way do I go?”

 

“Third floor. You’re to the right.” Bobby was happy enough to let her take the lead, because now instead of watching the wall, he could watch _her_ go up the stairs. Because, of course, she would have, among other things, an incredibly cute butt. He just had to remind himself not to stare, because that wasn’t very gentlemanly.

 

They continued up the stairs and Bobby continued to do his best not to stare or ogle until they reached the top of the stairs and the long, long hallway which marked where the girls dorms were. And Kitty’s was somewhere … near the end of that stupidly long hallway. Bobby hoped that maybe someday there’d be some more students, because the whole thing really did border a little on madness, and it was even crazier, considering that Wanda and Jean were roommates.

 

Soon enough, though, they reached the end of the hallway, where “K.Pryde” had been engraved onto the door. Bobby smiled slightly at that- bless the Professor for having that little sense of class. And then Kitty _walked right through the door._ Bobby kinda stood there and blinked for a moment before she _poked her head back out the door._

 

“Pass me the other bag?” Kitty asked sweetly extending her hand, and what else could Bobby do but hand her the bag, which seemed to fade away into a whisper of a bag before she went back into her room and then walked through the door again.

 

“That is so damn cool.” Bobby murmured softly.

 

“Thanks.” Kitty answered with a smile. “So what’s your power?”

 

“It’s … I’ll have to get you to close your eyes real quick.” Bobby quickly stammered out. “It’s better as a surprise.”

 

“Uh, sure, okay.” Kitty closed her eyes obligingly. “When can I lo-”

 

Bobby formed a little ball of snow in his hand. “Uh, you can look now.”

 

Kitty opened those beautiful brown eyes and looked at the little ball of snow in his hand. “You can make snow and stuff?”

 

“Yeah, snow and ice. It’s great for snowball fights.” Bobby grinned. “Especially in summer.” His grin widened. “Think fast!” He threw the snowball at her- it wasn’t hard or anything, it wouldn’t hurt, it’d mostly just come apart.

 

“H-HEY!” Kitty cried out. “Jerk!” And then she started running after him. Fast. Really quite fast. Bobby tore off as quickly as he could the other way.

 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Bobby shouted out jubilantly, but then he realized that, damn it all, she was faster than he was.  And then he realized, that closing a door or something wouldn’t help, because she could go _right through them._ And judging by her crazy cat-like grace and shapely butt and the absolutely insane pace she was able to maintain going for him, he felt it safe to conclude that he was screwed.

 

And that didn’t even factor into what the Professor was going to do to him after Kitty killed him.

 

 _I think I’m in love. But for now, running. Running fast._  

 


	11. Kitty II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitty Pryde is going to KILL Bobby Drake, even if he's also super cute. Eternally curious, she's also going to end up in places she shouldn't ...

Bobby was going to _die._

 

Kitty’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned the vast corridors of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted, looking for tell-tale signs of the boy who had covered her in freezing cold, melty snow. She was going to find this Bobby and he would die. Kitty had already gone down the stairs, looking for the boy’s dorms- wondering if somehow he’d assumed that his own dorm was safe territory. It was nicely convenient that the names of the students were put up above their rooms- all she needed to find was a “Bobby” or a “Robert” and she’d be golden.

 

It felt good to slip into what Professor Xavier had called her phased state as she started in and out of doors and corridors, escaping any attention, any notice- she’d found out that her headaches had a tendency to come back unless she regularly used her powers. As it happened, she’d got a fair bit of practice over the last while and she only ever accidentally phased when badly startled, or once or twice more, when she was sleeping. She’d also discovered that her phasing abilities did something weird to electronics- she’d completely wrecked her phone.

 

Kitty’s father had, overall, been quite supportive. It was clear that he wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of his daughter being a mutant, but he hadn’t allowed that to change the way he treated her. He’d called and texted several times on her way out to New York State and promised that they’d be there to visit her as soon as possible, maybe at the end of the month.

 

What Kitty was less sure of, was whether her mother would be there as well- she had not taken the news well, not at all. When she’d spoken to Professor Xavier, she spoke as if Kitty had some terrible and unfortunate disease that was going to get cured. Almost as soon as the Professor had made it clear that there was no cure, and indeed, no disease, happening, her mother had started regarding it as some bizarre and unfortunate phase, as if her being a mutant was something that would go away.

 

Or, perhaps, it was something that Kitty was meant to hide- and Kitty had no intention of doing that, least of all with her own parents. Kitty thought of herself as many things, but _mutant_ was one of them and she’d made herself feel the same fierce, slightly defensive pride in that label as she did in all the others she either identified with or was known as. She suspected that, one day, there would be a big, ugly confrontation over that.

 

Right now, however, she had to find Bobby. And exact her vengeance. Somehow. She’d think of something clever, something so diabolically effective that it would permanently wipe his stupid cute smile off his stupid cute face. And then Bobby was going to behave a bit more like a gentleman. And maybe wear some nicer clothes. Boys never seemed to have any idea what actually looked _good_ on them. Maybe some better-fitted jeans for a start.

 

Kitty approached the door labelled “Robert Drake” and shifted just a little bit through the door, only to see the offending boy hurl another snowball- but one that passed harmlessly through that portion of her face and hit the door. _Alright. You’ve taken your best shot. Now it’s my turn, Bobby._ With the grace of a panther, she slipped through the door and towards him, making herself solid just in time for an effortless takedown onto the floor.

 

The thud as his stupid butt made impact with the ground was profoundly satisfying. Smirking triumphantly, she placed her weight on her hands, pinning his arms to the ground.

 

“You thought you were going to get away with your little prank, didn’t you, Bobby?” Kitty smirked down at him. “Well. Now you’re trapped.”

 

Bobby squirmed a little, clearly trying to get out from under her. _You’re not getting away that easily,_ Kitty thought, and the truth was that she was a lot stronger than her size let on and she held on easily.

 

“Got anything to say … Mr. Drake?” Kitty asked, her eyebrow raising expectantly.

 

Bobby swallowed audibly and looked up at her, his eyes widening, a flush that was no doubt borne of humiliation creeping across his cheeks. It was almost a pity. He really was pretty cute with that adorably defeated look on his face. It would make it a little more difficult to enact her inevitable and ferocious revenge. She felt a bit of warmth creeping up her cheeks, borne no doubt of the exhilaration of victory. There was no other possible explanation.

 

“... you like being on top, huh?” Bobby replied, that adorable mask of defeat slipping into the insolence of an implacable foe. Kitty made an annoyed sound and got off of him, grabbing a nearby pillow and bashing it into his stupid face as hard as she could.

 

“You’re such a pig!” Kitty growled as she hit him again with the pillow.

 

“You’re the one who jumped onto me!” Bobby protested. “And hey, stop that! Ow! Geez, who taught you to hit like that?”

 

“My uncle.” Kitty couldn’t help but grin proudly. “I took krav maga from him on Sundays.”

 

“Lucky. My parents always made me go to church.” Bobby managed to worm away from her and grab his own pillow, striking a hilariously inept fighting pose and swinging it back at her, a blow she easily dodged.

 

“Weird. I make my _parents_ go to synagogue on Saturdays.” Kitty replied as she swung her pillow at him, though he was getting better at dodging them at least. Of course, it only made her inevitable victory more satisfying.

 

“I’m weird! Kids aren’t supposed to like church! Or Jewish-church! You’re supposed to hate and fear it!” Bobby tossed his pillow at her and dove over the bed to the other side, grabbing another pillow.

 

“Why not? It’s part of who I am! But congratulations on knowing what a synagogue is, I guess. I guess even the stupidest boy can learn a few things.” She hopped onto the bed and brought down the pillow in a vicious arc that caught Bobby unawares, knocking him down onto the ground unceremoniously.

 

Bobby put up his hands. “Hey! I give up! You win! Geez, it’s a pillow fight, not World War III!”

 

Kitty flopped onto the bed and gently smooshed the pillow into his face before letting it drop, a positively feline grin on her face. “Don’t start fights you can’t finish, Bobby. Especially with me.”

 

“Got it.” Bobby nodded and looked up at her. “So, uh, um, hey. Um, welcome to my room, I guess.”

 

“And _now_ you start showing something like basic manners.” Kitty couldn’t help but smile at him though- for such a dumb boy, he had _embarrassingly_ pretty eyes. And nice cheekbones. She propped herself up and took a look around at it- it looked like what she imagined a typical boy’s bedroom looked like. Lots of movie posters. A few posters of girls in bikinis- she rolled her eyes at those. “And I wouldn’t have come into here if you hadn’t thrown a snowball at me!”

 

“Yeah, but I threw that snowball and now you’re in my room, talking to me.” Bobby’s cheeks turned a shade of scarlet that was unknown to humanity just a few moments before and his mouth broke out into the utterly most _adorkable_ little smile. “So, uh, I mean, I won’t do it again! But … here you are and stuff.”

 

Kitty couldn’t help but blush. “Here I am.” She smiled at him and extended her hand. “Truce, then?”

 

Bobby looked at her outstretched hand for a moment, as if unsure what to do with it.

 

“Handshake, Bobby.” Kitty reminded him, unable to help snickering a little bit.

 

“Right. Handshake.” Bobby took her hand in his and shook it. “So uh, I like to celebrate truces with snacks. Wanna sneak down the kitchen and eat some cookies?”

 

“Cookies? Hell yes. Maybe I can show you how to make hot chocolate, Pryde-style.” Kitty grinned broadly. “The secret ingredient is Quik syrup.”

 

“Well, we got a bit of a trip then, because the kitchen is down like three floors and even though it’s right underneath us, you have to go through these stupid-ass corridors.” Bobby rolled his blue, blue eyes. “But there’ll be fresh-baked cookies there and it’ll totally be worth it.”

 

Kitty’s grin turned a little conspiratorial at the sound of that. “Right underneath us, you say?”

 

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, like you could just go right through the ... “ His eyes widened. “Oh man, can you do that? Like floors too?”

 

“Um, duh?” Kitty reached out with her index finger and booped his nose. “Tell you what? It’s comfy here. I can go steal us some cookies and stuff. Be back in, like, five minutes, Bobbers.”

 

“Uh huh. See you.” Bobby waved at her as she disappeared through the floor, flitting through one, two, three stories of the house and then, a beat later, she stopped. This room didn’t look at all like the rather ornate halls of the Mansion at all, but something colder and more sterile, a bit like a hospital, but even more like the set of an episode of _Star Trek._

 

 _I probably missed the kitchen …_ Kitty thought to herself, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the winding corridor and where it led. As silently as she could, she crept down it, ears and eyes open for the slightest sign that someone else was there. She hugged herself, suddenly aware that it was a bit cold down here. _Maybe this is storage or an infirmary? Science labs?_ She continued creeping down the hallway cautiously.

 

Kitty tried to open a door on the right, but it was locked. _Just a little peek. And I’ll go away instantly if there’s like student files or naked boys behind there, honest._ She poked her head inside to reveal a huge, empty room, oppressive and gray- it looked like it was at least two or three stories tall, with a small viewing area, and even wider- nearly the size of a gym, but it didn’t look like any gym she knew of. There weren’t any basketball hoops or bleachers or gym teachers.

 

_Weird. Maybe it’s a special thing for a mutant school?_

 

Kitty slipped her head out of the door and looked around- there wasn’t anyone near her, so she continued, just a little way longer, down the hallway. It was then that she heard a very, very gentle _thump_ on the floor. She turned around swiftly and she screamed and screamed and screamed and fell halfway into the floor.

 

It was huge- it looked a little bit like a gorilla, but with thick blue-black fur, more prominent canines and massive rippling muscles that bulged out of the fur and the incongruous lab coat that the monster wore. A small pair of eyeglasses were perched on top of the monster’s eyes, eyes that looked more catlike than human. It was hunched over, but she would have guessed it would be well over six feet if it stood straight and it was so _broad._

 

“Oh dear. I probably should have announced my presence. My apologies.” The horrifying monster spoke in a measured, educated voice that sounded like it’d spent time in Ivy League universities. “I suppose you are Miss Pryde.” He put up his hands, lips parting into a smile that showed razor-sharp teeth. “I suppose I’m rather startling to behold. I assure you, I’m not in the habit of devouring students. Even ones who are going into restricted areas.” He giggled gently, something that honestly sounded like a slightly deeper version of Dr. Hibbert’s giggle from _The Simpsons._

 

Kitty stood there, half into the floor, unable to solidify or move or even talk, paralyzed by the terror of this creature’s appearance and by the absurdity of his measured dialogue. She’d always liked _Beauty and the Beast,_ but she’d always known that, deep down, she would have been terrified if she’d ever seen the Beast up close and personal. And this … person? Looked quite a bit like that, actually. Different fur colour, no horns.

 

She felt pressure rising in her chest. She couldn’t breathe when she was in phase … she had to move. Had to get out of there, or she’d pass out and she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she got up while she was out of phase. She heard a door open and turned, hoping to see something normal.

 

“Dr. McCoy?” A thickly accented- German- voice asked from around the door before he came out. When she saw the owner of that voice, she screamed again and sprang out of the floor and started dashing through the hallways and into the doors. She only saw it out of the corner of her eye, but it was something terrifying, it looked like a _demon,_ with a coiling tail and sharp teeth and yellow eyes and- _what have I got myself into? I can’t stay here. I want to go home. I have to go home. I’m not like this. This isn’t me. I’m not._

 

The horrific pressure in her chest and throat pressed harder and harder and she realized that she couldn’t last much longer. She’d pass out and fall in the hallway and they’d find her and what would happen then? _What is this place? What are they going to do with me?_ Kitty crashed out of phase and hit the floor hard, banging her knee, sending a sharp stabbing pain up her leg.

 

Kitty took a ragged, gulpy breath and then realization hit her like a sledgehammer. _They’re mutants. And he was being nice and what the hell kind of monster am I? I’m no better than my mom or the people on the news._

 

“Hallo? Are you all right?” She heard the accented voice again and she forced herself to look at him and not flinch at the outright demonic appearance of the boy before her. She couldn’t have guessed at the age of the other one, but this one, this one was clearly a _boy,_ maybe a year or two older than she was. He moved all wrong too- she liked to think of herself as agile, but this boy really did move like some sort of panther. His hands and feet were huge and didn’t have the right number of fingers or feet. His eyes glowed yellow and she couldn’t see pupils or irises. He was covered in some nearly black fur and she could see a forked tail swishing about idly.

 

Kitty closed her eyes as tight as she could. She knew it was wrong and horrible and that she was a bad person for it, but she couldn’t stand to look at him- he just looked so _wrong._ “I’m sorry.” She managed to murmur through the hot tears pricking her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She sobbed as she willed herself to float up like a ghost. “I can’t.” And her eyes opened for awhile and she saw the _pain_ written on Kurt’s face and it _broke her heart._

 

She ended up in the kitchen and miserably sobbed for the better part of an hour before Bobby and another one of the students finally found her and helped her up to her room, where she lay morosely for the rest of the day. Finally, she did the one thing she always did when she couldn't handle things anymore, when she wasn't smart or strong enough to deal with life. 

 

Kitty prayed. 

 

_God, please. I need to hear you. A sign. Anything. Please. I don’t want to be so afraid._

 


	12. The Awkward Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro has never really felt a place in his family, at the school, least of all as his father's son. On a roadtrip to meet a mysterious friend, however, Erik reveals some important things to his son.

Pietro didn’t know what to think when his father asked him to accompany him on a trip into the city, even more so, when it was clear that Wanda wasn’t coming as well. _That’s just all kinds of fucking weird, because Dad loves Wanda way more than me._ The very thought of it sounded insufferably emo to Pietro, but how could it not be true? It had been obvious for years that Dad thought way more of his daughter than his son. It was so obvious that sometimes Charles tried to intervene in that low-key way he liked to do, to get Dad to pay more attention to him.

 

Pietro wanted to tell Charles to mind his own fucking business, but he never actually would, because he knew Charles was trying to help. Sometimes when he was asleep, he’d actually dream that he was Scott and that one day he could win the fucking Dad lottery and fly out of the orphanage into a life of privilege with a Father that actually respected him.

 

_But that’s really fucking it, isn’t it? Respect. Nobody respects me. I don’t respect me. Fuck me._

 

Pietro idly kicked at a stray pop can on the ground with his shoe, frowning with dismay as it hurtled against the garage door and ricocheted off. He sighed harshly and looked at his hands- they were shaking again, like he was some sort of goddamn heroin addict in need of a fix. _Been too still today. Maybe Dad can just tell me where they’re going and I could just run there. Goddammit. I need to run. There’s a math test tomorrow. I should go for a run and then study._

 

The thoughts flickered through his brain, a mess of neurons that fired just as quickly as his feet did, never standing still, never able to really hide the annoyance that built from day to day at everyone living so slow, thinking so slowly, doing everything so incredibly, insufferably, slowly. Pietro would have absolutely killed for something, anything, that would slow down his thoughts, but he hadn’t found anything that helped. The medication helped him focus a little, but it couldn’t do anything about his eternally racing mind and body, not really. And weed, well, he’d tried it- that’d been his sister’s suggestion, but it just fucked him up. It seemed to work for her well enough, but it just made him hungry and anxious. Alcohol didn’t really work either. It just made him clumsy, which was a disastrous combination with his speed. Impaired judgement and an ability to run at nearly the speed of sound didn’t combine well together.

 

Pietro wished that Wanda was coming too, even as part of him hoped that Dad was trying to give him a little more personal attention. As much as Pietro fought with his twin sister, nobody on earth understood him like she did. They didn’t even have to fucking talk, they could just coexist. More than anyone else in his life, she could actually deal with the eternally churning insanity of her thoughts and sometimes even make sense of them.

“Pietro.” He heard his father’s voice behind him and then a heavy hand settle on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go into the car.” There was a strange lightness to his voice that Pietro hadn’t heard in some time. His father almost sounded _happy._

 

“Uh … you sound good. Good news or something?” Pietro asked, irrationally worried that his father had somehow found a way to get rid of him permanently.

 

His father simply smiled enigmatically, something which sent fear racing through Pietro. “Clarity, Pietro. I understand what needs to be done now.” Pietro could guess by his father’s tone that clarification wasn’t immediately forthcoming. Sometimes he liked to be mysterious, which was something that annoyed both Wanda and Pietro to no end. But it seemed to keep most people on tenterhooks around him, so Pietro imagined that he wasn’t going to stop any time around.

 

“... so, where are we going?” Pietro hoped that perhaps his father would answer that relatively simple question. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when with a grand gesture, his father opened the door of the car. “... could just use the keys, Dad.”

 

“Why? My powers open the door well enough.” His father answered a little crustily before giving another one of those enigmatic little smiles. “You’ll find out soon enough. It’s a surprise, Pietro.”

 

“Surprises. Yay. My favorite thing.” Pietro rolled his eyes again. He was getting worried that he’d get some sort of repetitive stress injury from all the eyerolling he was likely to do on this little roadtrip. But he obediently got into the car with Dad and didn’t say anything snarky when some ridiculous classical music came on the radio. Both Dad and Wanda loved classical music. And though he was pretty sure Dad didn’t like Wanda’s metal and prog-rock stuff, he could on some level appreciate the musicianship of it. Pietro had once tried to play some rap music in the car and the look his father had given him could have slain a dozen Medusas.

 

_Of course he would. He’ll make an effort to like Wanda’s things, but not mine. Not that it really matters. Mozart away, Dad, to wherever the hell we’re going._

 

He could, of course, just put in his earbuds and listen to whatever he wanted, but Pietro also wanted to actually pay attention to where they were going. He had a weird feeling in his gut that it was something important, though again, it was weird that Dad was taking him and not Wanda. Pietro sighed inwardly. It really wasn’t fair to put resentment on Wanda. He knew that she felt as smothered by his attention as sometimes he felt neglected. Erik Lehnsherr wasn’t getting any Father of the Year awards from either of them.

 

Dad started the car and they left the garage and soon enough, were out of Salem Center altogether- heading south, towards the city. Pietro turned to his father, eyebrow raised as he saw a sign flashing by. “Okay, enough with the mystery act, Dad. What are we doing in the city? And why isn’t Wanda coming?” It didn’t help that he hated travelling in cars, they were all too fucking slow, even Scott’s fancy sports car that his father had got him for his sixteenth birthday. Pietro had hated Scott’s guts for a month solid after that had happened- it wasn’t enough that he got unconditional love and validation, he also had to get extremely expensive luxury cars.

 

His father ignored him stonily and continued driving, though Pietro could see that he was just a little more tense now. They continued driving for about ten more minutes before Dad turned slightly towards him.

 

“Do you want to stop at the drive-in and get something for lunch?”

 

That sounded so completely normal that it completely disarmed Pietro, cut past all his snark and his eyerolling. It sounded like a normal thing that a dad might ask their son as they were going in to do a normal thing like see a basketball game or maybe a concert or something. Pietro stared at his father like a total idiot for what must have been ten or fifteen seconds.

 

“Uh, sure. We could get a burger at the Lucky 7 diner. It’s a few minutes down the road. Good stuff.” Pietro sank back into his seat, hoping his dad didn’t comment on his goggleeyed reaction to something approaching normalcy in their relationship.

 

“I suppose that will do. When did you go there?” Dad asked him, his eyebrow raised a little archly. That, at least, was comfortingly familiar enough. He could deal with his father’s suspicious nature.

 

“Went there with Scott and Bobby and Warren a couple of times.” Pietro shrugged. “Trust me, it’s good.”

 

“Ah yes.” It sounded like suddenly, once again, his father was a thousand light years away and was speaking through the distant ether of space. The distance was something that was almost soothing to Pietro, as much as he also hated it. It meant that things were normal and in his experience, change was usually for the worse. Change meant things like watching his mother sicken and die. Change meant ignoring things that if Pietro thought about them, that would make his ambivalence towards his father turn into white-hot rage.

 

_Yeah, we are not thinking about that. We’re not thinking about that. Nope. I can’t. I can’t do that._

Pietro slipped the earphones in for a few minutes, turning up his music as loud as he could until they were forced to stop because they’d reached the Lucky 7- a rather unassuming little diner with a drive-thru window and seats for about twenty or so people, but that served really good homemade burgers. The smell of frying and grilling beef and potatoes was enough to distract Pietro from unthinkable thoughts and actually perk up a little. No doubt that Dad thought that eating at a fast-food joint was grubbing, but Pietro couldn’t physically eat enough sushi to keep himself going. Dad could always go with Wanda to some fancy restaurant and eat gross sea creatures that weren’t even cooked.

 

Pietro himself loved few things more than a good burger with fries and a shake- even better because he could dip his fries into the shake and drive his father slightly batty. Then again, his father would probably put mayonnaise on fries and Pietro wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole, so it was fairly even. _Mayo on fries is disgusting. Europe is insane. Ketchup is where it’s at._ Pietro made sure he had enough on his plate to practically drown his fries and some extra to dip his burger into.

 

“We’re going to see a friend of mine.” His father announced out of seemingly nowhere, putting down a measly quarter-pound burger- the portion they served to babies at this place. “A very important friend of mine.” He paused for a moment. “It’s very important that you don’t speak of anything you see or hear of there to anyone. Not even Wanda. Not yet. I don’t … she would not understand right now. You know how she feels about the Institute and about Charles.”

 

“... wait. What?” Pietro set down his own burger and stared at him for a moment. Then, suddenly mindful that they were in the restaurant and not in the car, he just nodded and finished eating his meal. But he was definitely going to be asking his father about that later. _Something’s clearly up with Dad and I don’t know what. And I’m afraid to find out, but since when have I ever stopped when something was a bad idea?_

 

The rest of their meal passed in silence before Dad paid and Pietro and about half of his Titan-size milkshake went back into the car. His father didn’t start the car immediately, however. He took a deep breath and looked at Pietro.

 

“Pietro, this is very important. Today. I’ve become convinced that Charles’s approach isn’t working any more. We need to look towards something else, something more direct. Playing along with the government will only lead us to oblivion.” He took another audible breath. “The politicians in Washington have started talking of a new law. One that will register all mutants. So they can track mutants down at will.”

 

“... seriously?” That started Pietro’s mind racing even faster than usual, but he set his jaw hard and looked at his father. “So what are we doing about this? Are we going to be leaving the Institute?” Pietro realized in a sickening moment that he didn’t want to leave and he knew, in his guts, that Wanda wouldn’t either. She might not even go with them. Pietro knew that she was close to Charles- who she called ‘Uncle Charles’ freely, loved Scott like another brother and Jean way, way more than that. He wondered if his father knew that. Dad probably figured she had a thing for Scott- that’s pretty much how dense he usually was about his children.

 

“Charles will no doubt believe the solution lies in keeping the peace and cutting some manner of deal with powerful people in Washington. It’s true, he isn’t without friends there.” His father’s eyes flashed then and even Pietro, as jaded as he liked to pretend, found himself hanging on every word, almost hypnotized. “It will not work. We must be prepared to defend ourselves. To fight, if need be. And I think we will need to fight.”

 

“... are we leaving the Institute?” Pietro asked again, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant in the cosmic drama that his father was imagining. He felt like a stupid little kid in that moment, who didn’t want go to a new school, because all their friends were in the old school.

 

“Not right now. But quite possibly in the future.” His father replied in a measured tone. “I understand that you might not want to. Nor would I. You know that Charles and I are good friends.” And there seemed to be a tinge of real regret in his voice, though Pietro never quite knew with his father. When he wanted to be, he was a consummate actor and not even shrewd people like Wanda or Charles could tell his real feelings underneath.

 

“So … who’s this friend of yours?” Pietro asked, suddenly desperate for something, anything to distract from the incredibly grim turn of the conversation. He wondered what sort of person that his father would feel the need to keep hidden from the others. Pietro was pretty certain they were a mutant of some kind, but if so, why not take them to the Institute?

 

“Her name is Raven-”

 

And the instant that Pietro heard that, he was pretty certain precisely what _kind_ of friend she was. It may have been harsh of him to assume, but he knew his father all too well on that score. Sometimes he and Wanda knew of the women, sometimes they didn’t, but it was extremely rare for their father not to have some sort of mistress. And that’s what they were really- as much as Pietro missed Mom, he could sympathize, honestly, with his father if he was looking for love, deep down. But it was just about sex and self-glorification.

 

His father regarded him for a long moment. “I think you’ll actually quite like her. And she’s gathered a few young mutants on her own- with some assistance from me. I think you might make some friends there. Who knows, you might even find a girlfriend.” A small pause. “Or a boyfriend, of course.” Pietro hated the little smirk that followed- he fucking _hated_ that his father had figured out that he was bisexual pretty much immediately. He’d wanted to shock his father with that. And yet, his father never made little comments about Wanda, who was way more into girls than, honestly, he was into guys.

 

_Just another thing to annoy you about your father._

 

His father tired of classical music and switched the radio station to some insufferable high-culture radio- they were reciting Shakespeare, Henry V, to be precise. Pietro pretended to turn up his music, but the truth was, he’d always liked Shakespeare, even if his father liked it too. The actor was reciting the St. Crispin’s Day speech.

 

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers …”

 

Pietro took out the earphones. He wanted to hear the rest of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father smiling faintly, but he had the good grace to say nothing.

 


	13. The Untouchable Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue would rather just stay up in her attic and read with Morty, but her Momma insists that she comes down to dinner. There, Erik has an announcement to make ...

Sometimes Rogue absolutely _hated_ the fact that Momma felt the urge to load up her house full of a bunch of teenage mutants. Of course, she got that most of them didn’t have any other place to go, and a lot of them wouldn’t fit in at Xavier’s anyway- but it made it difficult to have any actual time alone. Thankfully, at least, Momma had pretty much given Rogue the entire attic as her own personal space. It was an arrangement that suited her well, because she hated the parties the others always had on the weekend.

 

Mom didn’t like them much either, didn’t love that Momma didn’t like enforcing anything like rules on the other kids- Rogue knew that Mom wanted her to go to Xavier’s. But Momma had refused- maybe afraid that if she let her go, then she’d never come back. Personally, Rogue didn’t think the scene at the Institute, if her second-hand descriptions were any good would suit her much either. Too much emphasis on togetherness. Rogue liked her privacy.

 

As it happened, though, she wasn’t actually alone in the room- Morty was sitting across from her, his face in a book like always. As far as other people went, he was good people as far as Rogue was concerned, he didn’t pry, had no problem with blessed, comfortable silence and besides, he had good taste in books. And loved reading, and writing. She knew what it was like, trying to do anything quiet elsewhere, so she usually let him sit up in the attic with her.

 

Rogue set down her book and looked over at Morty for a moment, totally lost as he so often was in whatever book he was reading- some awfully thick one by the looks of it. Morty, he wasn’t much into _Twilight_ or anything like that, the first time she’d seen him, his face had been mashed into one of those giant _A Song of Ice and Fire_ books that he was forever trying to get her to read. She’d tried once, but it honestly seemed a little slow. Maybe she’d try again in a bit.

 

But while Morty seemed to love great big epic science fiction and fantasy stories, she loved nothing more than romances- she knew that romance novels were trashy as all hell, but she couldn’t help but love them. If you knew where to look, you could find good ones, ones with a little wit, ones that weren’t so incredibly sexist. Now _that_ was a quest for any of those knights in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros- to find a good, feminist romance novel.

 

“How’s your book?” Rogue finally asked, unable not to smile a little bit. There was something desperately adorable about how absolutely devoted Morty was to his books. She could identify, though. Books never let you down. Books weren’t scared off by your horrifying powers.

 

“Oh, quite good. I’m actually reading this for the third time.” Morty smiled a little shyly back at her, finally putting his book down. “Dune.” He waved the book around, which featured a slightly garish cover with a gigantic worm-like monster on it. _Also adorable, that little English accent._

 

“Must be good if you’re readin’ it for the third time.” She smirked at him. “Nerd.”

 

It’d taken Morty awhile to get used to her teasing him- though she didn’t tease him about his mutation, wouldn’t dream of it. She knew what it was like to have to suffer from one’s mutant powers and he’d certainly done the same. He’d been passed around a huge number of foster homes back in England and while he didn’t really talk about it too much to her, she’d learned from Momma that he’d had a very, very hard time of it. Momma had rescued him after, finally, with his powers emerging, he’d struck back against his abusers.

 

They’d apparently found the bastard kicked straight through a wall, rib cage shattered like glass, lungs mashed into paste. Rogue couldn’t imagine the sort of hell that would make the sweet, gentle, almost painfully shy little boy she knew lash out like that. But then, she’d also seen him jump, twenty feet into the air without even running up, over sixty feet lengthwise.

 

“You’re a nerd too, then.” He countered with a smile sweet as pecan pie. “You read as much as I do. And you’re always writing in your journal.”

 

“Ouch. I’m hurtin’, Morty.” Rogue smiled and staggered back as if hit with an arrow in the heart. “Right through the heart. Oh, ah’m slain!” She exaggerated her Southern accent and slumped back against the ground.

 

“Heavens above!” Morty cried out and set down his book. “Not my sweet Rogue! Woe is me!”

 

“Can’t hear your eulogy. Dead.” Rogue lolled her head back and stuck out her tongue for dramatic effect. She closed her eyes, and did her best impression of a dead version of herself. Which was almost immeidately ruined with Morty poked her side. She squirmed away from him.

 

“She rises! Death’s sweet embrace foiled again!” Morty laughed as he reached out to tickle her side again until suddenly, in a moment of panic, Rogue grabbed his hand, probably harder than she needed to.

 

“... goddammit, Morty. You can’t be doing that.” She sat up immediately and looked at him, compulsively checking to make sure her gloves were on. “What if you like, _touched me?_ ”

 

“I’m sorry.” He just sat there, looking so desperately sad and forlorn that it was impossible for Rogue to be angry with him.

 

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” She let go of his hand and curled up her knees close to her chest. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

 

Morty’s lips worked wordlessly for a moment and then his expression changed into something much more firm than usual. “No. It isn’t your fault. I should have remembered.” He took a breath. “It isn’t your fault, Rogue. You mustn't think that, ever. We don’t get to choose to be mutants.”

 

“... Morty?” Rogue was almost afraid to ask, to vocalize the thought, but she couldn’t _not._ “If you could, would you … not be a mutant?”

 

“I … I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to leave here. I like it here, in this house.” Morty answered quietly. “But it’s very hard on us two.” He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something else, but seemed to decide against it.

 

“Yeah.” Rogue answered, not sure if she was satisfied with that answer, but not sure that she actually wanted to press any farther. In fact, she was pretty certain that she wasn’t. “So … what’s that book, Dune, about? I’m guessin’ there’s some giant desert with big worms in it.”

 

“Oh yes.” Morty answered, perking up almost instantly as the conversation drifted back towards literature. “It is … the towering pinnacle of science fiction, I think. It’s a wonderful story, but also deals with religion, philosophy, history, ecology. There’s quite a long series that follows it, but the first book is the best. I could let you borrow it, if you wanted.”

 

“Actually? I was … I know it’s a big long book and it’d take ages and you’d only have to do a little bit at a time, but … okay, this sounds _really_ stupid, but I’d actually really like it if you’d maybe read a bit of it to me.” Rogue was glad that Morty probably couldn’t see her blushing, because if she were paler, her cheeks would’ve looked positively scarlet.

 

Morty looked downright astonished for a moment and then he smiled sweetly, and even though in truth, his teeth were kind of awful, the genuine happiness on him was just too cute for words. “I would be honoured. Truly.” He picked up the book and moved beside her. “A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care …”

 

Rogue leaned back against the wall to listen to him read, wishing that she could safely curl up with him, but that was dangerous- it was far too likely that she could accidentally brush some little bit of her skin against him. At best, he’d be unconscious for several minutes and she’d get a very intimate look at what she knew was a horribly painful life. If the contact was any longer than a second or two, he could be in a coma for weeks. And then he’d never leave her brain, not entirely. And as much as she liked him, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know him _that_ well.

 

Unfortunately, no good thing could last forever, because just as soon as she’d really settled in, there was a sharp knock at the door and then she saw her Momma come upstairs. Morty set down the book and looked up at her expectantly. Rogue sighed a little over-dramatically and looked up at her too. She was probably going to get dragged downstairs to meet her Momma’s boyfriend’s son or something. Which was basically the last thing on Earth she wanted to do.

 

“You’re going to miss dinner if you stay up here. You know Fred and Dom have worked hard to make something nice for Pietro.” Raven smirked. “Lots of time to be ridiculously adorkable later. Erik’s downstairs too, actually sticking around for dinner for once.”

 

The last thing on Earth Rogue wanted to do was comment or find out anything more about that. She got up reluctantly, as Morty sprang to his feet. “C’mon, Morty, at least there’ll be some good food in it for us. You sure they can’t just bring some food upstairs?”

 

Raven shook her head. “Not tonight. This is important.” Her tone was a little uncharacteristically serious. “Bad news out of Washington. You’ll hear more about it at dinner.”

 

“Like there’s ever good news out of Washington.” Rogue sighed. “C’mon, Morty, let’s go be social with the others.” She opened the door and walked down the stairs, closely followed by Morty.

 

She could already hear the sound of people gathering for dinner, most of them relatively unaccustomed to eating all together, much less with any sense of decorum whatsoever. Half of them were probably only lured to the table with the prospect of being able to drink some of Momma’s better wine from the cellar- she couldn’t help but smile slightly at her mother’s profound hatred of US drinking laws, a topic that she would expound at great length to anyone who asked. Some of the others were probably just curious about what Raven and Erik were going to say.

 

Rogue took her seat at the table and quickly acted to make sure that Morty was beside her on one side- and that the creep Jason wasn’t on the other side. She’d caught him ogling her on several occasions and she knew that he regarded her powers as more of a challenge than as a barrier. She honestly hated Jason, not the least of which is that he was often mean to Morty- he was the sort of social parasite that thrived off of setting himself in a dominant position. Normally, she’d sit with Momma, but Momma was off with Erik at the end of the table.

 

As it turned out, it would be Tabby that’d be sitting next to her. It could have been a lot worse, of course, but that meant that Rogue had a front seat row to Tabby’s likely seduction of Pietro. Probably more than any of the others, Tabby seemed to be there just for a good time, which translated to a lot of alcohol, weed and sex for her. Rogue had tried for awhile to find something deeper, but heaven help her, she hadn’t found anything yet.

 

John was across from her and he was one of the more entertaining people for Rogue- someone with strong opinions on just about everything, who was eager to believe any conspiracy theories about mutant. He was already trying his best to impress Erik with his knowledge of mutant affairs. Rogue poured herself a cold glass of water and took a sip. She knew that, as much as Johnny loved to pretend he didn’t give a fuck about anything, that he was actually fairly desperate to impress people.

 

Near the middle of the table across from her was Dom- probably the most well-adjusted person in the entire group. She knew that her mom pretty much expected that she’d fall for Dom and she wasn’t about to deny he was really cute, but he was too shiny and perfect for her taste. Normally Dom was all about casual cool, slouching a bit and wearing a sincere, if a little smug grin. He was different tonight- barely touching the offered wine, sharp, on point, but not so transparently so as John. Momma was grooming him for leadership and she had to admit, he’d probably do pretty all right with it.

 

Fred grinned over at her from his place at the table, which was where three people of regular size would sit. “Hope yer hungry.” He’d always been pretty nice to Rogue, but she knew there was a lot of anger and resentment not far beneath the surface and he was going to be, without any doubt, the muscle of the group. Rogue had a sinking feeling that they’d need all of his strength and indestructibility in the future. She doubted that Momma and Erik were gathering all these people together to make a full table.

 

Near the head of the table was Pietro, Erik’s son, a tall but skinny man who looked like a thinner, younger version of his father, all smouldering intensity, though he wore a pout that didn’t seem like it’d fit well on Erik. He was clearly more than a little uncomfortable in this gathering of largely strangers and looked like he wanted to have a lot more of the wine than his father would probably allow him to have. She noticed him fidgeting constantly, eyes always flitting around. Pietro looked like he wanted to do nothing more than to simply run away.

 

Finally, at the head of the table, her Momma was sitting with Erik and she had to admit, much as she hated the fact that Momma and Mom couldn’t be together, that they looked good together. _King and queen of the freaks._ Her Momma was usually loud and more than a little lewd, eternally more comfortable with the teenagers of the house than just about any grownup should be. Rogue knew well, though, that she was a dangerous woman- Momma had been around the black-ops scene since the Second World War.

 

Lastly, there was Erik himself- who most people would have called Dr. Lehnsherr, but she refused to be quite so obliging towards a man who’d more or less usurped her family. The charisma that someone like Dom had a little bit of came off of Erik in palpable waves and he commanded attention, immediately. When he stood for a moment, even Tabby sat straighter. She hadn’t talked to him much, because frankly, he was usually just there to ‘see’ Momma, but tonight, he looked like a man with a mission.

 

“First of all, I’d like to thank Dominic and Fred kindly for the excellent food.” Erik paused for a moment. “I wish that I could come under more pleasant circumstances, but there are dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Right now, in Washington, politicans are conniving to pass laws that would make it mandatory for mutants to register with the government. There are rumours, as well, that the government is building secretive weapons in order to enforce these laws. We have seen a steady rise in violence against mutants around the world. One of our most recent students was almost killed in a riot, instigated by his own brother.

 

We cannot trust the benevolence of government, nor of society as a whole. We mutants must rely on each other, and each other alone. We must gather together and show the world our strength. Perhaps, with luck, we can avert the conflict that seems so inevitable in the future. However, we cannot deny that it is coming. This house, and the Xavier Institute, have both tried to offer sanctuary to as many mutants as possible. But neither can offer sanctuary to all the mutants who need it.

 

Furthermore, there is something desperately wrong with a world in which the strong need to cower and hide from the weak. We should be proud of our unique abilities and powers, powers that set us apart from the general mass. We are not freaks. We are the future of the human race. And one day, whether soon or in the far future, we will inherit the Earth.

 

Things are going to change around here- it is time to begin taking our situation seriously and take action. Right here, and right now, we will create a new beginning for our people. Brothers and sisters, mutants all.

 

We are mutants. We will not run. We will not hide. And if humanity wants a war, we will not begin it- but should it happen, we _will_ finish it.”

 

Erik raised his glass in a dramatic flourish. “To the mutant race!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this particular AU, Rogue is of mixed origin (African-American and European).


	14. The All-American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senator Kelly is deeply concerned about the mutant problem. Emma Frost shows up to his office to make sure that he is sufficiently amenable to the Hellfire Club's hidden agenda.

Senator Robert Kelly sat at his desk, going over the notes of the day ahead of him, time and time again. It would be a very long and trying one, and he doubted that he’d get to see home before well into the wee hours of the morning. He would be presenting the finished Mutant Registration Act before Congress later this morning, a bill that would assuredly kick up a colossal storm of controversy. There were many that would debate the bill on its own merits, and others who looked to support or denounce it because of the optics in their respective districts.

 

He knew that the President was thoroughly skeptical about the Act, for one, though he hadn’t quite denounced it. _Like so many, he’s probably waiting to see how it plays out in Congress today._ Robert took a long sip of some tepid coffee, which now that it wasn’t properly hot anymore, was obviously over-sugared. However, he didn’t have the time to get another. Kelly bolted down the coffee like he might’ve quaffed shots of whiskey back in his college days. He missed those days, when his only responsibilities were for his own grades, his biggest concerns playing football and dating cheerleaders.

 

Robert wouldn’t say that he actually _wanted_ to put the Mutant Registration Act forward. It wasn’t a nice law, like a guarantee of health care or an expansion of veteran’s programs. He reminded himself that he personally didn’t actually hate mutants. He was quite certain that many of them felt as trapped by their strange genetic defects as normal humans were terrified of their powers. More than anything, Robert hoped they could find a safe and dependable way of neutralizing or curing genetic mutation. A few companies were reportedly doing research in that field, but he doubted they’d come to fruition anytime soon.

 

The Mutant Registration Act was an act borne of ugly, violent necessity. Whatever else mutants may or may not have been, that they were dangerous was unquestionable. Mutants existed who could read minds and walk through walls. Mutants existed that could kill people by looking at them a certain way. The government had an obligation- its most basic obligation, to provide security for the people of the United States. How would Americans feel any sort of security without keeping watch of people with such incredible destructive potential? How could any government take seriously its function of providing security without means of dealing with superhuman mutant criminals?

 

He heard a gentle knock on the door.

 

“Come in.” Kelly said in a bit of a monotone as an attractive young blonde woman entered the room, leaving a singularly massive looking bodyguard behind her at the door. She came into the room as if she owned it, sitting down in front of him and smiling faintly and pleasantly.

 

“I was expecting Sebastian himself.” Kelly pointed out, mildly annoyed that Sebastian hadn’t seen fit to come personally. “I’m assuming you’re one of his people?” He put out his hand politely enough, a cool, smooth hand slipping into his and shaking it firmly.

 

“Emma Frost. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Senator.” She smiled sweetly, showing a row of perfect teeth that Kelly guessed were purchased rather dearly. “Sebastian sends his regrets, but he’s very busy, I’m afraid. I want to talk to you about Operation Wideawake. Your apprehensions about it seem slightly unusual, considering that you are pressing forward with a mutant registration bill.”

 

Kelly leaned back slightly in his seat. “I’m sure it does.” Recognition flickered into his mind. “Frost, you say? Related to Christian Frost? Of Frost Media?”

 

“His daughter, yes.” Emma replied crisply. “A rather significant donor to your most recent election campaign.” Kelly didn’t particularly need reminding on that point- Frost had given him nearly a million dollars for his Senatorial campaign. He was Robert’s second-largest donor, after Sebastian. No doubt they were disappointed that he was holding out somewhat on their pet project.

 

“As always, I remain grateful to your father, and of course, to Sebastian. But Ms. Frost-”

 

“Emma, please.” Emma’s smile remained immaculately in place.

 

“Emma.” Senator Kelly took a breath again. “What Sebastian is proposing is an armament program on a colossal scale, one that would create weapons of almost unprecedented destructive power. It seems rather drastic a solution. I’m not saying that these-” Kelly paused for a moment trying to remember their proper name- “Sentinels should never be built. But nothing that has happened merits something so drastic. We have drones for surveillance and Stark has agreed to build us a certain numbered of powered armours for apprehending and holding superhuman criminals. As a supplement to our existing forces.”

 

“Senator-” Emma started, but it was his chance to interrupt her.

 

“Robert, please.” Robert smiled faintly. There was no need for the conversation to be unpleasant, even if Emma was unlikely to leave with what she was looking for. It wouldn’t do, after all, to offend Sebastian or Christian Frost for that matter. He hoped that they would understand that if someone like him had reservations, that nobody else on the Hill would touch the plan. Perhaps they could amend it into something a little less bizarre.

 

“Robert, you know more than anyone the danger that mutants are capable of posing. How incredibly destructive their powers can be.” Emma spoke in a calm and measured tone and he couldn’t help but agree with her on that point. Mutants _were_ dangerous, that was the entire reason why he had authored the Mutant Registration Act in the first place. But a program like this? For so much money and involving the creation of weapons as powerful and destructive as that?

 

“I believe it was one of your political heroes that said that extremism in the defence of liberty is no vice. I think we both know it is only a matter of time before something incredibly horrible and tragic happens with a mutant. Whether it be accidental or an act of terrorism. We need to be prepared for such an eventuality.” Again, the Senator found that he couldn’t disagree with her. He’d argued for a robust program of funding for police forces across the country.

 

Robert stopped her for a moment before she continued. “Emma, this is all very nicely put-together, but the simple fact is that I cannot in good conscience support Operation Wideawake in its current form. Now, if Sebastian would make a few changes, then perhaps I could change my vote …” He stopped for a moment and realized that Emma’s perfectly manicured smile had faded into a look of concentration. “And no other arguments are going to sway-”

 

Robert stopped speaking immediately and realized that he could not remember what he was going to say. He blinked and slumped into his chair, feeling the sudden urge to listen to what Emma had to say, very carefully. She clearly had a greater understanding of the issues than he did, after all. He’d sit there and listen to her and he’d think very carefully indeed on what s- no, he’d do exactly what she told him. Anything less would be terribly impolite.

 

“You are going to not only support Operation Wideawake, but you are going to present it as primarily your own idea, attached organically to the Mutant Registration Act. You will give _carte blanche_ to Shaw Industries to plan the construction of the Sentinels as we see fit and you will see to it that we are provided with funding commensurate to the vital importance of the operation. From now on, the Mutant Registration Act and Operation Wideawake will become your primarily obligations, ahead of all other political concerns.”

 

Robert had to admit that Emma made perfect sense when she spoke and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself for his foolishness- how old was she? Twenty? And yet, she was clearly right and he had been in the wrong. He stopped laughing, however, because that was terribly disrespectful- it wasn’t respectful to laugh in the presence of a lady, unless they were joking and it was clear that Emma was being very serious. Robert sat up straight in his chair like a good boy and listened to what Mistress Emma had to say.

 

 _Mistress Emma?_ That was silly and going a little far, Robert thought to himself. He did, however, continue sitting up straight and listening eagerly to whatever else Emma had to say. Perhaps all he needed was to hear some of these arguments from someone other than Sebastian, someone with a slightly more subtle and charming personal style. He reminded himself that he would have to work on making sure that Frost Media had first crack at any interviews with himself in the future. Of course, Operation Wideawake would be his first priority, but he knew that American also needed strong and capable broadcasters and Frost Media was the best among them.

 

“We’ve taken the liberty of preparing some comments for you to deliver before the Senate today.” Emma Frost smiled thinly and removed a folder full of files from a slim and fashionable bag and passed them over to him. Robert picked up the files and looked them over briefly, admiring the crisp, efficient prose and finding them instantly and amazingly memorable.

 

“Of course, Emma. It will be my pleasure.” Kelly looked at the documents for a moment. “If I may be ... may I have permission to change the wording of some of these? Wonderfully written as these are, it would make more sense for them to be delivered in my own style.”

 

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes and Robert felt a sudden pang of sadness at having disappointed Emma. But she nodded a little stiffly and he took that as permission to do so. Emma sighed slightly and started speaking again.

 

“Something is going to happen very soon, Robert. You’re certain of this. Within two weeks, there is going to be a devastating mutant attack on a major American city. You can feel this in your bones, Robert. People won’t believe you, but when it does happen, you will feel incredibly vindicated- if, of course, saddened by the inevitable carnage. This tragic and cowardly assault on America will give you the leverage you need to push forward the Mutant Registration Act and Operation Wideawake on the American public.”

 

Robert shivered at Emma’s comments, and yet, he knew it to be true- he’d always known that somehow it was going to erupt in violence and hearing her say it, he was more certain than ever that it would be so. More than anything, he wanted to stop the attack before it began, but he doubted that anyone would listen to him. They never did, not in time. He could only hope that in the aftermath, people would be willing to listen to him. The Mutant Registration Act wasn’t dangerously extreme, it was the path of moderation. The responsible thing to do. The only way to protect America.

 

Emma leaned forward slightly and looked Robert in the eye and he found that there wasn’t anything else he could do but stare blankly into her eyes and lose himself in those sapphire pools. It felt good, the totality of surrender to someone else’s will. He felt himself unmade in that moment, his mind ferreted through, his secrets blooming open like flowers in a well-tended garden. A dumb smile spread across his face and he idly swallowed, lest he drool on the table.

 

In that moment, which echoed on as if in a seeming eternity, he was no longer Robert Edward Kelly at all, he was No One the Eternally Empty, a vessel waiting to be filled by Emma. Ideas and words and statements pouring into his brain with all the strength of a mighty river. Amazons and Niles of her will poured into him, filling him to the brim and beyond. It felt so _right_ , not being anyone, not thinking anything, not feeling anything of his own creation. He wanted nothing more than to stay in that blissful state of self-annihilation forever.

 

Robert could have cried, would have cried if he could, when he felt Emma’s overpowering will begin to recede from his mind- and taking with it that precious feeling of enlightenment. He could feel his own mind, so small and twisted in comparison to the perfection of Emma’s will, sprouting back into being, like mushrooms after a rain. Unbidden, and perhaps against Emma’s wishes, he felt, a few tears began to fall down his cheeks as not only the reality, but even the memory of that enlightenment began to fade. _No. Please. I just want to not be. I just want to not be anymore. Obliterate me. Please. I don’t want to come back._

 

He was no better than unhewn stone, a cheap and worthless thing, in the face of the diamond perfection that was Emma’s mind. The only relief for him was that the pain too, began to recede as his own mind returned to him and he understood, that he and Emma had conversed together at length about the issues and that really, he’d just needed to convince himself. Operation Wideawake was every bit as much his own idea as it was Shaw’s. He shook his head slightly and reached up, astonished to feel wetness in his eyes. _Allergies, no doubt. Damn office is always dusty._

 

“I’m sorry, Emma.” Robert laughed slightly and reached up to wipe at his eyes. “Allergies. I need to get the cleaners in here, but I’m always working.” He laughed again, more heartily. “What do you think, then? Do you think Sebastian will support the little changes I made to Operation Wideawake?”

 

Emma smiled widely and sweetly. “Of course, Senator. He’ll be delighted. He’s always happy to work together with his dear friend. As is my father, of course. And let’s be honest, here, you’ll need all the positive coverage you can get. My father is a great believer in national security and in real solutions to the problems that face us. He backed you for a reason. We all believe that you are the man America needs right now. You know, we’re not that far from an election.”

 

“... an election?” Kelly thought about it for a moment. “You mean, that I should run for President?” He sat back in his seat and thought about it for a moment- the sheer enormity of that duty. What it would mean for his family. “That’s very flattering, Emma, but I don’t think I’m ready for that sort of responsibility yet.” At the same time, though, it would also mean that he would have far more ability to push through the changes that America needed, on multiple fronts. But more than anything, to make sure that the mutant problem didn’t endanger the country. America had enough serious problems as it was.

“I think you should seriously consider it, Senator. You know more than anyone else the stakes that are involved here.” Emma’s mask of geniality faded into something more serious. “As it is, the country and perhaps the world, is riding on the success of the program you authored with Sebastian. You would be far better able to see that through to completion as President, don’t you think?” Emma smiled again, getting up. “It’s been lovely, Robert. We’ll have to speak again, hopefully not over so much dreadful business.” She gracefully left the room, accompanied by her gigantic bodyguard.

 

Robert Kelly was left there, with a lot on his mind and also, a strange feeling of emptiness deep inside him, as if he were missing something. Then he looked at the clock and realized that nearly an hour had gone by and that he had only twenty minutes to get ready for the Senate hearing on the Mutant Registration Act. He would have to run practically the whole time in order to make it.

 

 _How did that talk with Emma take a whole hour?_ Robert wondered, but then shrugged inwardly. Most likely he was simply tired and lost track of time. What else could it possibly be?


	15. Scott II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Jean go on a date. Telepathy is sexy. 
> 
> Scott gets cockblocked in the worst possible way. 
> 
> The author attempts to write something approaching sexytimes.

It felt weird to be going on anything like a normal date, with everything that had happened and was continuing to happen. It was a strange thing to sit in a car and eat burgers and fries and not think about the violence in Germany, or about the ugly rumours of a new mutant registration law that was supposed to go in front of Congress. For the last few weeks, everything had been building and building and Scott had no idea where it was ultimately going to go, though he was pretty sure that nothing good would result from any of it.

 

“Scott? You’re drifting again.” A honeyed voice brought him out of his thoughts and he smiled a little apologetically.

 

“Sorry, Jean. I’m … probably not doing very well at this.” He sighed and slumped back a little bit into the seat of his car, momentarily forgetting about his food, good as it was. “Too much on my mind … which I guess was the whole point of trying to get out tonight. Forgetting about things for a little bit.”

 

Jean smiled a little wryly and reached out to take his hand. “Don’t beat yourself up. We’re both having trouble lately. It’s been hard. And it’s probably not the best thing for us to be doing, sitting in a car like this. We probably should’ve gone and done something.” She laughed softly. “We probably _should_ do something. Good as this burger is, I’m getting too much time to think. Right now, I think that’s bad for both of us.”

 

Scott couldn’t disagree with that- as it was, he had a tendency to overthink things and there was so much to keep his mind full of worry, about both the present and the future. A new training programme that was perilously close to combat training. Visceral evidence of the violence that anti-mutant prejudice could create. Jean’s experiences in training with Professor Lehnsherr. His own feeling that he was supposed to be stepping up and act as more of a leader for the students.

 

 _Stop it._ Jean’s mental voice was not unkind, but it was firm. _We both need, badly, to get away from all that, even if only a little while. And lest you forget …_ she reached over to tilt his face towards hers, _I can feel your thoughts in my head like they’re my own. And probably vice versa. Let’s finish eating and then see about what we can do to turn this night around._ She leaned in and kissed him softly, her lips soft against him. He responded, reaching out to brush away some stray hair around her face.

 

 _Okay. We’ll try this again._ Scott laughed, a little nervously and got his food out again, feeling a strange urge to finish quickly, though it was probably wrong of him to start getting assumptions about what they could do. He was pretty sure that he wanted a lot more of those kisses. That would make a very nice start. A bit embarrassed, he tried to suffocate the thought- one difficult thing about dating a telepath, and even more particularly about their bond was that his thoughts were, so often, as good as hers. And the last thing he wanted her to catch were all those stray thoughts about how good those soft, soft lips would feel trailing down his throat and his chest and stomach … he stopped himself and tried to focus on his milkshake instead.

 

If Jean caught any of those thoughts, she didn’t let on, finishing her burger and nibbling on fries, though if he focused on her, he could catch a hint of what he was pretty sure was amusement. He suddenly flushed and tried to go back to his food, but realized that he didn’t really care about it anymore. He could always heat up the leftovers if he wanted some later on. For the moment, he was much more interested in watching Jean.

 

Jean smiled faintly and set down her drink. “See something you like, Mister Summers?” Her eyebrow quirked slightly and bright green eyes twinkled with something like mischief.

 

“You could say that.” Scott replied with a faint smile. “Kind of wondering how I got to be so incredibly lucky.” His smile became a little tremulous. “I’m not used to things coming up well for me, even after years.” He laughed nervously. “What I meant to say is that, God, you’re beautiful. Sorry, I wish I had something brilliant to say-”

 

He wasn’t able to finish as once again, soft, sweet lips were pressed against his and who was he to do anything but respond? His arms reached out to wrap around her, traces of her warmth coming through the thin fabric of her shirt, her impossibly perfect scent- a little perfume but mostly _her,_ filling his nostrils, a cascade of hair falling down over him, surrounding them both. And soon, their kiss deepened and he forgot all about any other taste. Their kiss was slow, sweet, not tentative exactly, but exploratory.

 

They only parted when they both needed to breathe, his eyes slowly opening at the same time that hers did. In that moment, he cursed the glasses that he was forced to wear, that he couldn’t properly look her in the eyes. He knew they were green and he could often catch the light that filled them, but it wasn’t the same. It felt like a distance between the two of them that would never quite go away, even though in so many other ways, they were closer than just about any other couple.

 

 _I have an idea, Scott. Do you trust me?_ He caught a little nervousness in Jean’s voice, but also an excitement.

 

 _Of course I trust you. With everything._ And it was true, God, it really was true, he trusted her more than anyone, even his father. He loved her and he trusted her and no matter how much he fretted about things, he knew that she felt the same way about him. It was one of the few things that Scott could really count on, that he couldn’t just worry away like he worried away so many other things. Even with everything that had happened, or maybe, especially _because_ of them, he knew that he could trust her. That she wouldn’t hurt him. He just hoped that he would never, ever hurt her. He would never intentionally do such a thing, but what if he did so inadvertently?

 

 _Scott. I want you to relax._ Jean leaned in and nuzzled against his throat softly. _This won’t work unless you relax totally. I’m not even sure of that, but I think it’s worth a chance. I want you to think of somewhere you’d like to take me._ Her mental voice was whisper soft in his own. _Anywhere at all. Close your eyes and imagine it for me._

 

 _Okay._ Scott’s first thought, honestly, was his bedroom, but he thought- that was too immediately suggestive and not terribly romantic anyway. He could do better than that. He thought of a ski lodge, a warm and crackling fire before them, maybe a bottle of nice wine … a long and happy day out on the slopes, settling in together in front of the fire. A comfortable couch, he thought. It was all probably a bit rustic, but he couldn’t help it. He’d always loved winter and winter sports. People used to joke about him being secretly Canadian.

 

After a moment, he opened his eyes and to his astonishment, everything was there. They weren’t in his car anymore with half-eaten food around them and the beginnings of a cold rain in the sky. They were in the chateau, with the smell of pines and the warmth of a fire crackling near them. And there was Jean, smiling at him, a little shyly.

 

“... where are we?” Scott blinked. “I don’t quite understand.”

 

“We’re in your imagination.” Jean replied with a faint smile. “I rather like it. Very romantic.” Scott couldn’t help but grin in response. It was something they had in common. Jean loved the slopes, though she secretly far preferred snowboarding to skiing, something that mortified her parents to no end. He noticed, in the distance, his skis and her snowboard propped up against the wall by the door.

 

“You can do this?” Scott was astonished by it- it all seemed just as real, maybe even _more_ real to him than the Danger Room. Then something else hit him and his attention turned back to Jean and he realized, in a revelation that turned his knees into jelly and set his heart hammering that he wasn’t seeing everything in shades of read. He reached up to his own face and didn’t feel glasses. “... I don’t even dream this anymore.” To say that he was awed by it, by the ability to see properly didn’t even begin to describe it.

 

And then his eyes really settled on Jean and his breath caught in his throat and that heart which had started beating faster first skipped a beat and then started pounding even harder. He could appreciate now, finally, properly, how red her hair was- and it really did stand out now that he could see things in other colours. That red hair, so impossibly soft and silky-looking, framed a heart-shaped face in delicate peach colours, with green eyes that shone softly. Soft pink lips which were curved upwards in an amused smile. From there, his eyes traced down to the slender curve of her hips, of long, long legs, of perfectly-shaped breasts that rose and fell with each breath, straining against the thin fabric of her blouse.  

 

“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Summers, I think you like what you see.” Jean’s smile turned into something slightly wicked. “Though seeing as this is your fantasy, I’m a little surprised that I’m still wearing anything at all.” She laughed and moved more closely to him.

 

“Uhh …” Scott reached around her waist with his hands, still more than a little entranced with being able to see her properly. “It doesn’t seem … right? I don’t want to …”

 

“Impose yourself?” Jean smiled at him. “Let’s say, right now, that there is just about nothing that you could imagine me wearing, or not wearing, that would impose. In fact, since it’s now _my_ imagination too …” Her lips curved into a bit of a mischevious grin as suddenly he felt his own shirt disappear. Jean’s hands brushed softly against his chest and then down his stomach. “Much better.”

 

 _Well, two could play that game._ It was a temptation to cut to the chase and simply imagine her naked, but Scott decided against it. There was something worthwhile about taking things slowly, for both of them. Besides, if they were really in their imaginations, then neither time nor being caught were considerations. He figured, most likely, it just looked like they’d fallen asleep in the car or something. Not that he really cared.

 

The white blouse and dark skirt was gone, though, replaced by lacy green lingerie that left _just_ enough for the imagination. And now, instead of feeling silky fabric, his hands were on smooth, warm skin. Suddenly, he felt himself be pounced and pressed against the warm, leather couch as Jean kissed him, passionately, deeply, fiercely. She was straddling his hips and he swore he could feel her warmth, even through the filmy material of her panties and his own pants. He instinctively moved a little as he felt himself start to get hard underneath her.

 

“Do you really think I mind that you’re aroused? I’d be worried if you _weren’t.”_ Jean’s voice was a little husky with desire. “We need to get you out of those pants. Now.” Her hands reached up to deftly undo his belt, telekinesis, sliding the undone belt out and delicately tugging down the zipper of his pants, an almost ghostly touch against his groin that did nothing to diminish his rising desire. She looked him a little expectantly. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Lift your hips a little.”

 

Scott obediently did as she asked and felt his pants slide off of his legs with the benefit of her telekinesis and settle in a little pile near them. _I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m sorry in advance if I’m not very good at it._

 

 _I haven’t either._ Jean admitted, a flush creeping up her cheeks and a shyer smile playing across her lips. _But the nice thing about this, is … we don’t need to worry about all the messy things in real life. I mean, if you want to._ He knew, without being able to sense her thoughts that she was very earnest about that.

 

 _I was about to ask you the same thing,_ Scott admitted. _But … yes. I do. If you do._

 

 _Good._ Jean smiled sweetly before her grin went a little crooked as she reached behind her, undoing the clasps of her bra and removing it, discarding it with a little telekinetic flourish. Scott’s eyes widened as he took them, and her, in, and tentatively reached his hands towards her, slowly, slowly, ready to remove them at a moment’s notice if she changed her mind.

 

“Scott.” Jean admonished softly and took his hands and pressed them against her breasts. “Go ahead.” He cupped his hands around her and caressed them softly, brushing a thumb against a stiff nipple. In response, she made a low little pleased sound before capturing his lips in an urgent, hungry kiss, so much so that he forgot very, very briefly about where his hands were-

 

_Don’t stop. And don’t be afraid, I’ll tell you if you’re too hard._

 

Once their kiss finally ended, though, he had another idea, kissing down her throat, slowly, feeling her quickened pulse against his mouth and then down to her collarbone- taking soft little moans as signs of encouragement, he continued down, until his lips were brushing against the soft warmth of her breasts and then, experimentally, flicking his tongue against one of her nipples, drawing a gasp from her.

 

“Feel good?” He couldn’t help but ask, a little nervous about how he was doing.

 

“Oh god, don’t stop.” Jean gasped and arched up as he bent back down and suckled the stiff nipple and then, he could feel what _she_ felt and he moaned against her. _Jean … god …_

“Holy shit.” Jean gasped again as Scott’s lips and mouth went back to work and then, as he tugged on one of her nipples gently with his teeth, she practically growled. _Like that. Yes. God. Fuck._

 

And then Jean froze up.

 

 _Scott!_ Jean quickly pushed up off of him and and he pulled back for a moment, confused by the sudden change, the flushed desire rapidly turning into pale panic on Jean’s face as their fantasy world immediately collapsed into the stark reality of his car. Scott was left gasping, barely able to make sense of the sudden change of scenery, let alone of Jean’s disposition.

 

“What’s wrong, Jean? I thought ... “ He realized, though, that this wasn’t about what they were doing. It was something else, something far more dire.

 

She looked at him, stark white and shaking slightly. “It’s the Professor, Scott. He’s in trouble. We need to drive. Now.”

 

“What’s happening, Jean? Why hasn’t the Professor sent a distress signal? Or _called.”_ He started his car with one hand and frantically checked his phone with the other.

 

“He doesn’t want us to come. Someone’s attacking the Mansion- but we can’t leave him there. Or the others-” Jean was interrupted by the roar of the car engines coming to life as all of Scott’s anxieties almost totally melted away, the heated moment between them firmly behind him for now.

 

“Hold on.” Scott said simply. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Get my visor out of the bag. These glasses aren’t any good for fighting.” He knew that he’d curse himself sooner or later, but right now, he needed all the clarity of purpose he could get. “Contact the Professor if you can. Don’t take any no for an answer. Ask him if he’s got any useful information for us.” His face curled up. “Fuck. Professor Lehnsherr’s out. In the city. He won’t be able to come back for forty-five minutes at best, provided he even hears about it. And you know what it’s like trying to send telepathy to him.” He had the distinct feeling that whatever happened, it would be up to them.


	16. Logan II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan tries to kill Charles Xavier. He doesn't count on his own conscience, nor on the efforts of a motley bunch of teenagers. 
> 
> Sorry about the very long time between updates. It's a very busy time in my life.

_Get in. Kill Charles Xavier. Get out._

 

It seemed like a simple enough job for Weapon X- especially since the power to the Xavier Institute for the Gifted had been cut by the support squad. The security systems, such as they were, were not going to be operating. There’d been no reports of guards or similar at the school, just a lot of cameras and motion sensors, not that any of those would stop Weapon X from completing his objective.

 

The fact was, that guards would only make it slightly more interesting- men with guns weren’t going to stop him. Impossibly sharp adamantium claws sliced through the side of the Institute’s fence and Weapon X slipped in quietly. He had been told to avoid collateral casualties if possible, though if it came between push and shove, he was to complete his objective. Weapon X had parsed that to mean that nobody much cared if the students inside the Mansion were killed, but that nobody particularly _wanted_ them dead.

 

Which suited him just fine, though if that had been the entire mission, it would not have stopped him. It was not his place to question his orders, whether they were right or wrong. His job was simply to execute them- and usually, he was an executioner. He didn’t remember much of his past, but he knew that he’d killed a lot of people in the past, that he was very good at killing people. He remembered practical things- languages, fighting styles, how to pilot aircraft and tanks, but not the details of his life.

 

Truth was, he didn’t even know his real name. Not that it mattered. Weapon X worked well enough to describe who he was and what he did.

 

Weapon X sniffed at the air- he smelled a number of human scents, about fifteen or sixteen of them. The nearest scent was outside, not far from him- and judging by the strong grassy smell, smoking marijuana. Logan kept low- no point in getting into a confrontation with some lone pothead. He had an important job, and killing non-essential targets could alert the occupants of the Institute to his presence. _Maybe I’ll shank them on the way out. I hate that shit. Gets way too far up in my nose._

 

He moved silently through the grounds of the Institute, which was an impressively large compound. _Someone’s getting a big inheritance from this Charles Xavier,_ Weapon X reasoned, though of course, it didn’t matter at all to him. His job was simply to find the old man and kill him. Weapon X got near the window when suddenly he sensed that the kid outside was moving- towards him.

 

_Your funeral, kid._

 

Logan turned around to face the kid- a girl with long dark hair and a decidedly Gothic taste in clothes.

 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The girl spoke in a voice that reminded him, for reasons that baffled him, of Central Europe. She was a pretty young woman and it’d be a shame to put her in the ground. Even if she did stink of pot. She struck a pose that seemed to be some sort of stance, but didn’t line up with any martial art he knew. “Leave this place. Now.” Bright green eyes flashed at him and her hands began to glow with a red energy.

 

_Shouldn’t be surprised there’s mutants at the mutant school._

 

Weapon X didn’t waste time with a snappy reply, charging at her, though almost immediately, the ground before him was struck by a wave of crimson energy. Logan felt the firm earth give way into an impossibly deep, muddy morass, as if sodden by days of rain, like when he was in Flanders- _when was he in Flanders?_ It was like quicksand, viscous and horrid and he was almost instantly sunk in it to his waist. He reached out to pull himself out but another bolt hit the ground and he sank in further, almost to his neck.

 

The girl looked down at him, her hands up high and he could smell what she was thinking better than he could surmise it. _She’s wonderin’ if she can just drown me in mud like the poor motherfuckers in Passchendaele. Passchendaele?_ That was in the First World War- he couldn’t possibly remember that. That was nearly a hundred years ago.

 

Green eyes flashed at him again and the swirling crimson energy returned but then, with an audible sigh, she dispelled it and quickly ran inside the Mansion- no doubt to raise the alarm. The earth around him was beginning to harden again and lie on him heavily- if he was to make any escape, it was going to have to be now. He noticed the window ledge. It was close at hand- if he could just get one hand out of the resolidifying earth … he growled audibly with effort as he tried to leverage one arm out.

 

It took eleven seconds but he was able to do it. His hand reached out and grasped the ledge. Hoping the building was as solid as it looked, he lifted upwards as hard as he could- a task that would have been trivially easy if it was only his weight, but was made so much harder by the dirt around him, closing in tight enough to make it hard to breathe. By the time the little bit of ledge gave way, he had pulled enough of himself out that he could simply dig himself out with his claws.

 

_Bitch cost me nearly a full minute. Might as well be forever._

 

The truth of the matter was, however, that it would simply make the mission bloodier. He would find Charles Xavier- could, now, smell the man. He was moving, presumably to a panic room or somewhere else in the basement. Weapon X cut away the window as quietly as possible and slipped into the actual Institute building. There wasn’t anyone there as of yet- no guards. _Just a bunch of kids. Easy prey._

 

But something bothered him a little- he _had_ hesitated to simply kill the girl and as a consequence, had been buried up to his neck in mud and earth. Why hadn’t he simply slain her? It would have been easy if he’d just snuck up on her and killed her. As a matter of fact, something was persistently rubbing him just a little wrong about this whole job. This Charles Xavier ran a school for mutants. He wasn’t a drug lord, wasn’t a dictator, wasn’t even a common soldier, he was-

 

_Doesn’t matter. He’s the target. Nothing more. Can’t afford to hesitate._

 

Weapon X felt a heavy bookcase shaking slightly behind him and had to leap quickly out of the way to avoid it falling, at least a ton of books spilling out where he was. He turned with a growl to see the girl in the red and black number from before. _No hesitating this time. I’m gonna cut her guts out._ He moved towards her swiftly, dodging a cabinet full of fancy plates that dove at him like missiles- shards of porcelain cutting into his skin.

 

She couldn’t stop him this time, didn’t have the means to really cramp his mobility like she had earlier with the earth outside. She turned to run soon enough, throwing another heavy bookcase with her strange powers at him, but this time, he was ready and simply leapt over it. His claws flashed. But just as they were about to slice into her flesh, there was a sudden flash of light and an ungodly stink of sulfur and she was gone.

 

Weapon X growled, landing in a tight roll. _No time. Just follow Xavier’s scent._ He sniffed the air. Charles was continuing his descent. Logan continued stalking forward, ears and eyes aware, claws extended, moving virtually silently. It was then that he felt a strange chill in the air and saw walls of ice coalesce from both directions, reaching the ceiling in mere seconds.

 

“Dude, you came to the wrong place.” He heard a peevishly immature voice calling out from behind one of the ice walls. Weapon X growled and stuck his claws in the ice wall. He could feel the tips of them just come out of them. He grit his teeth and leveraged his arms with all the strength of his shoulders, his claws neatly slicing through the ice. Then it was a simple matter of kicking at the weakened patch as hard as he could, sending a spray of ice and snow everywhere.

Weapon X leapt out of the exploding wall swiftly, tackling the kid and sending him down to the ground. His claws went upwards in an instant that felt like it was an eternity as he saw the terrified face of a mere boy looking up at him. Logan hesitated for a split second. Weapon X swung his claws down, but this time, the terrified kid seemed to vanish into the floor, his claws sticking into the ground where his head had been a moment before.

 

_How the hell am I to kill anyone here if they’re all gettin’ out of Dodge by some weird magic?_

 

He heard the noise from before, when the Gothic girl had disappeared and smelt the sulfur, but this time, he felt a presence. Weapon X’s claws lashed out and this time, they tasted flesh and he heard a cry- _in German, like the Hitler Youth,_ and saw a strangely diabolic-looking young man fall to the floor, blood flowing liberally out of a deep gash on his side. Weapon X quickly moved to finish the kid off, but once again, he vanished into the ground- this time, however, he could clearly see delicate feminine arms doing the lifting.

 

_You’re not a killer, Logan._

 

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly and growled. That didn’t come from his own mind- that came from someone else. _Logan? I’m not Logan. I’m Weapon X._ He gritted his teeth and continued onward now, but this time he heard growling from another source, something low and feral sounding.

 

“I’m afraid I must take exception to you harming my students.” Weapon X turned to where he heard the growling, smelled something strong and bestial and was faced with a huge blue-furred beast, glasses precariously balanced on a small nose in what looked like a huge simian face. Huge hands reached up to remove the glasses and toss them aside.

 

“Your funeral, bub.” Weapon X countered and charged the blue beast, but almost immediately found himself dodging the bookcase from earlier, which the beast-like creature picked up like it was made of styrofoam. In the narrow space of the corridor, there was little dodging to be done. It hit him like a freight train, shattering on impact, between the creature’s clearly huge strength and Weapon X’s adamantium skeleton- it was a damned good thing that he had it too, because ordinary bones would have been shattered like glass underneath such a gigantic impact.

 

Weapon X managed to get up to his feet again and moved quickly, striking out with his claws at the blue-furred beast, scoring a hit on its chest- but not a deep one, just enough to draw a little blood. The beast now roared in a truly primal way, and Weapon X knew that all he’d done was make the beast angry. It hit him with a hammer-like fist that knocked him down on the ground, winded by the savage impact, again, one that would have crushed his bones into pulp if it weren’t for the adamantium protecting it.

 

_I’m not gonna win this one through straight brawn. This bastard’s way stronger than I am. But I can heal and he’s gonna have a hard time taking me out with my unbreakable bones. And I can fight smart too._

 

Weapon X slid down to the ground, getting as low as he could, moving underneath the powerful creature’s arms and struck upwards with his claws, adamantium biting deep into the beast’s flesh. He heard a satisfying roar and moved his claws back to eviscerate the beast when he felt himself being pulled away by some invisible force and slammed up against a wall, hard. He continued struggling as hard as he could, but he remained fixed in place, unable to move.

 

In the distance, he saw a beautiful young redhaired woman before him, her hand at her temple and a hand reached out towards him. _She’s the one pinning me._ Weapon X struggled harder and he could tell by the expression on her face that she was struggling to hold him- but before he could do anything like break free, there was a horrid thunderclap and he felt himself swept away in a torrent of crimson energy, which slammed into him like a colossal freight train.

 

Weapon X got up as quickly as he could, but was hit by yet another wave of crimson energy, which rammed him straight through the exterior brick wall. This time, as well as the staggering physical impact, he felt something in his head again, hammering at him. It felt like something- or someone was trying to get into his brain as hard as they could. The people at HQ had told him that Charles Xavier was a telepath. They’d also told him that adamantium was naturally resistant to telepathy.

 

_But not entirely immune, Logan. And I’m afraid I cannot allow you to harm my students anymore._

 

 _I’m not Logan!_ Weapon X growled internally as another wave of crimson energy hit him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of his lungs and driving him hard into the ground. He noticed a slender young man with a red visor looking at him. And then there was another thundercrack and he felt the astonishing impact again, keeping him pinned. The boy had removed his glasses and was keeping him fixed to slowly sinking ground with force beams coming out of his eyes.

 

But he realized in a moment of realization, as the oxygen was slowly choked out of him by the constant pressure of the crimson energy on his chest, that his name _was_ Logan. His eyes widened and not just from the mad craving for air as it became virtually impossible to breathe- _my name is Logan …_

 

Tears that had nothing to do with any pain that he’d suffered pricked at the corner of his eyes as broken memories began flooding up to the surface of his mind. He remembered little flashes of times and places, wearing uniforms of many colours throughout his life, fighting alongside real men, both good and bad. He’d fought and killed almost ceaselessly through his life but he wasn’t just an assassin. He wasn’t just a weapon.

 

_I’m a man, and my name is Logan …_

 

Then everything faded into darkness as the lack of oxygen caught up with him and he fell into unconsciousness.

  
  



	17. Charles II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Logan have their first real conversation. 
> 
> All things considered, it's pretty civil. Logan raises some good points.

Charles Xavier felt like his entire world had been turned inside out and lit on fire, that literally everything he had never assumed had been torn down.

 

Charles had expected opposition from many quarters towards the establishment of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted. He had fully expected seeing protesters outside the gates of the Institute, bearing their hateful slogans and hurling abusive words within. He’d always been wary of letting students go too far outside the Institute’s gates without proper supervision- certainly not alone, lest someone get the idea to take out their hatred and fear physically on one of the students. He’d expected all along that this was going to be an uphill struggle.

 

Strangely, however, none of that had quite transpired- there’d been some negative press, but overwhelmingly the reaction of ordinary people towards the school seemed to be a cautious game of ‘wait and see’. People tended to avoid the Institute rather than congregate around it in protest. The press reaction had been unsure and tentative rather than laudatory or condemnatory. People seemed deeply uncertain about the mutant phenomenon, which was a frustrating reality but one that seemed hopeful.

 

This time a few weeks ago, Charles was quite optimistic indeed about his great experiment. Things seemed to be going well and if the public wasn’t congratulatory, neither were they in strident opposition. It looked like the world was genuinely going to give the Xavier Institute for the Gifted a chance to succeed or fail on its own merits. Realistically, Charles thought that he couldn’t expect much more from the public. He was aware that it was quite a strange thing for them to swallow.

 

Three weeks ago in Germany, the first sign that things were going to get worse had come. Scott and Jean had gone to meet with Kurt Wagner and see if he was willing to come to the Xavier Institute in America. For reasons that were still somewhat unclear to Charles but seemed to involve a terrible jealousy with Kurt’s non-mutant half-brother, that scene had ended in terror and violence. Kurt’s half-brother had been killed in the violence and he knew that Kurt, Scott and Jean had all suffered heavy trauma due to the events.

 

The events in Germany had prompted some changes at the Institute- Charles would no longer think of taking his students to contact new students. It would have to be himself, Erik or Hank that would make the first contacts. He knew that Scott in particular would be displeased at that thought but he couldn’t risk another situation going poorly. Not with underaged students. Not with his son, or anyone else that was under his protection.

 

Charles had also reluctantly taken Erik’s advice and started giving the students self-defence training, something which went against the grain of what he wanted to accomplish at the school, but something he didn’t feel like he could reasonably ignore. He suspected that Erik’s motives weren’t entirely pure, but at the same time, they clearly _did_ need to defend themselves. It was also true that a number of the students had taken to it with some zeal- though he suspected it had seemed something of a game to many of the younger students.

 

And perhaps in some ways, it was- until a few hours ago.

 

A few hours ago, someone had sent an assassin to murder him in his own home, at his school, without particular regard for the lives of the young people who shared it with him. The particulars of the case seemed even more haunting- someone was clearly taking, brainwashing and physically altering mutants as living weapons. If they could do it with this one individual, they may very well do it with another. And most likely, there was no single cluster of mutants that was more defined than his very Institute.

 

_What if the same people who had sent Logan were to use Scott or Bobby for that purpose? Or Kitty, who could move seamlessly through any barrier? Or Wanda, who disregards all the laws of physics at a whim? Or Jean Grey, who is potentially the greatest psionic power on Earth?_

 

_How can I justify keeping this school open? To make my students targets? What if by gathering them together I’ve only made us a larger target?_

 

The actual events had not particularly allayed his fears- indeed, instead of hiding, many of his students had chosen to confront this mysterious assassin. If they hadn’t have been involved, Charles himself may very well have been killed, but most likely, the assassin would not have actively hunted them down. As it was, they had been fortunate and nobody had been killed, though both Hank and Kurt had been wounded and were it not for Kurt and Kitty’s gifts of teleportation and phasing respectively, there would have likely been multiple deaths.

 

_And what of that? Kurt’s only sixteen. Kitty’s fourteen. They should not be making life and death decisions._

 

And what would Charles say to the parents, to say, Carmen and Theresa Pryde? Certainly, he could praise Kitty’s bravery and quick thinking, but impressive as that may have been, it was an cruel absurdity to place multiple lives in the hands of a barely-teenaged child. How could he counter their inevitable desire to pull her out of the Institute, to say nothing of levelling charges, civil and criminal against him? What right did Charles have to oppose them?

 

_What right do I have to involve young people in this dream of mine if I can’t even keep them safe?_

 

Charles would have to more seriously consider what he was going to do with the Institute soon, but for right now, he had more pressing concerns- that was, he had an extremely dangerous mutant who had been programmed to kill him restrained in an isolation room of the infirmary- something he’d designed for extreme medical reasons but had proven strangely useful as an impromptu holding cell. It was yet another thing that didn’t sit well with him, how easily the advanced technology of the Institute and particularly its basement lent itself to violence and oppression.

 

Charles pushed himself down the corridor where the door opened to leave him in the room with Logan- who had seemed to recover almost totally from his injuries in the time he’d been restrained. Dark eyes regarded him warily as he entered the room.

 

“You gonna kill me or wipe my mind?” Logan seemed more or less resigned. Muscles flexed against the restraints, but they were designed for stronger mutants than him and his claws were useless if he couldn’t bring them to bear. “Suppose I couldn’t blame you.”

 

“No.” Charles replied firmly. “As a matter of fact, Logan, I want to help you as best I can.”

 

“No offense, Charley, but I was sent here to kill you. And just because I remember a few things about who I am, doesn’t mean the programmin’ is gone. The moment you release me, I could tear your throat out.” Logan pointed out.

 

“Is that what you want to do?” Charles asked pointedly.

 

“No. But what I want to do might not be the deal here. It’s what they want me to do. I …” Logan’s face twisted a little bit. “My memory’s fucked, but I think I just wanted to retire. I’ve been fighting and killing a long time. I just wanted out.”

 

“I should be able to remove any brainwashing.” Charles replied.

 

There was a moment’s silence.

 

“Why? Why try and help someone who tried to kill you? It doesn’t make sense.” Logan’s eyes focused on him again.

“Because you’re every bit as much of a victim of this as I would have been.” Charles paused for a moment. “Because the likely alternative would be to shut down your mind entirely and I consider that every bit as heinous as outright murder.”

 

“You ever killed a man, Charley?” Logan’s expression was hard to read, just as his thoughts were. The adamantium casing around the man’s skull didn’t entirely render him immune to telepathy, but it certainly made using it more difficult.

 

“Yes, I have.” Charles answered. “And very often, I think of how I could have done better, how I could have done what needed to be done without shedding blood. I was a soldier once, as you were. I know what it is like to watch a man die. To feel his dying thoughts on a level that few could comprehend.

 

It is not a thing that I wish to experience again, or be responsible for.”

 

Logan nodded for a moment, exhaling heavily. “So you’re gonna keep me in here- till when, till you can clear their programming out of my head?”

 

“I deeply dislike keeping you in confinement, but I do not see any alternative.” Charles replied honestly.

 

“What then?” Logan pressed. “When you think I’m clear to go?” His eyes narrowed a little. “Suppose you could put some of your own stuff in there. Send me to kill the people that sent you.”

 

“I probably could.” Charles allowed.

 

“You don’t seem like the type.” Logan replied. “So … you gonna just let me go afterwards?”

 

“I suppose that’s the only practical thing to do.” Charles replied. “You don’t seem like the sort of person who would like to work with young people.”

 

“Heh. Probably not.” Logan actually seemed to smile slightly at that thought. “Not exactly known for my skill with kids. Tough lot you got. Must be quite the school.”

 

Charles didn’t really love the reminder that the students had put themselves on the front line of the struggle even if he was forced to admit that likely, both he and Hank would have died if it weren’t for them. “They were very brave, but they are children. They should not have been put into a situation like that.” He sighed. “Which given the situation, is far more my fault than theirs.”

 

Logan took another breath. “If you think there’s a safe place for mutants in this world, you’re deluded. There’s no such thing. Least here they’re not alone. I like bein’ a lone wolf more than most people, but it’s also probably what got me here. You’d best think real hard about what happens to those kids out there if they don’t have a place. Alone in an unforgivin’ world is no place for a kid. Better to train `em for reality together.”

 

Charles remained quiet for a long moment- he hadn’t really expected to hear that, least of all from a man who was, in truth, his captive. But at the same time, how could he bear that responsibility for them? Knowing that if things went bad, that they would more likely suffer than him for it?

 

“You gotta ask yourself- are you really thinkin’ about them or are you thinkin’ about how you feel about it all? Seems to me these kids are pretty damned dedicated to this place. They might not want to leave, Charley.” Logan smirked, showing sharpened teeth. “Kick `em out, you might have a real fight on your hands.”

 

Charles couldn’t help but smile faintly in response, though what Logan said would certainly give him considerable food for thought. “You seem remarkably fond of these people. As I recall, they were making your life very difficult.”

 

“I respect guts from anyone. And that wasn’t me doing that. I’m not gonna lie to ya and say I’m a great guy. I’ve killed a _lot_ of people, Chuck. But I don’t murder kids, I’d never kill kids.” Logan growled. “And these people that made me do that, that fucked my memory? I’m gonna find _them._ And they aren’t gonna be able to do what they did to me to another living soul.”

 

He took a harsh breath. “But before I do that, I owe you one. For showin’ me who I am, or at least some of it.”

 

“You do not owe me anything.” Charles replied firmly.

 

“Yeah, I _do._ And I’m not gonna take no for an answer. The way I see it, you can probably use all the help you can get. I’m not gonna pledge my life in service or anythin’, but I owe ya something big. Yesterday, I didn’t even know my own name. A few hours ago, I had no problem with killing kids.

 

I still don’t know most of the details, but you showed me somethin’ important about who I was. You reminded me of my name and how it _means_ something. So you best think about that favor. Like I said, ya get one. Make it count, bub.”

 

Charles didn’t have an immediate reply to that- he could tell that Logan was being quite serious about that, even if his thoughts weren’t immediately readable to him. There was something else that he wanted to talk to Logan about, however, or rather, something that he wished to ask. “I should not have any great trouble removing any programming from your mind. However, I suspect your memories will be far less easy to recover. If you give your permission to look inside your mind, I can recover what I c-”

 

“No.” Logan rasped. “I don’t want anyone rooting through my head. I need their brainwashing out of me enough to deal with that, but … don’t touch the rest.”

 

Charles nodded. “Of course. I respect your decision. The offer stands if you change your mind.”

 

“Don’t hold your breath on that, Chuck.” Logan laughed a little mirthlessly. “So how long do I gotta stay in this thing? Not really my style. You haven’t even taken me out to dinner.”

 

Charles refrained from directly expressing his annoyance with being called ‘Charley’ or ‘Chuck’. “As soon as possible. I would release you now if I could, but I cannot take that risk, with my students here.”

 

“... can you just fuckin’ sedate me, Doc?” Logan broke in. “Like you did earlier. The less I have to experience bein’ in here, the better.”

 

“Very well.” Charles replied a little wryly and reached out to put his hand on Logan’s forehead. The adamantium made it more difficult to reach into his mind, but a minute or so later, he’d found where he wanted. “We’ll speak again soon.” Before the sound of his words had died off, Logan was fast asleep and would remain so until jolted awake or Charles gave the telepathic signal.

 

_I’ve got a lot to think about in the next few days. Precisely what I want this place to represent. How I’m going to deal with the students, or indeed, with Logan himself._

 

Somewhat annoying to him was the fact that he hadn’t been able to reach Erik yet tonight- Erik was almost impossible to summon telepathically, certainly not without actually going into Cerebro and it appears that he was not answering his phone- or indeed, had turned it off. Charles was aware that he had a ‘friend’ in the city, though interestingly, he’d taken Pietro this time. He could only hope that Erik would return tomorrow morning, because the two of them had a lot to talk about.

 


	18. Kurt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt, recovering from his injuries in the fight with Weapon X, has significant encounters with both Wanda and Hank.

Kurt wondered if he’d actually slept at all or if he’d just closed his eyes for a moment- certainly, he still felt more than a little strange from the potent painkillers they’d given him. He sat up and felt his side, which had been wrapped in bandages, and, he imagined, also stitched up.  _ I suppose I should count myself lucky- I could very easily have been killed. I seem to have a knack for surviving- though whether it’s a blessing or a curse, I’m not entirely sure.  _

 

As soon as the thought flitted through his mind, though, he felt ashamed by it.  _ Life is a sacred gift. I should be thankful.  _ Kurt was glad that he was alive, of course- among other things, he didn’t think he was ready to face Stefan yet and wouldn’t be for a long time. Whatever his brother’s flaws, he still felt the responsibility heavily for that, and also for the pain that he’d inflicted on Jean, who’d had to, as he understood it, feel all of his dying thoughts and ended up taking an impression of sorts of Stefan’s mind in the moment of death. 

 

Kurt was truly thankful that he wasn’t a telepath- he couldn’t imagine having to deal with that sort of burden. 

 

“Good morning, handsome. I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” 

 

_ German?  _ There was no way that Amanda or anyone else from the circus was all the way over here in America- that is, if they didn’t hate him for what had happened. The last he heard, they were still operating, but he knew that the plans for going to larger venues in bigger cities hadn’t come to fruition. Losing their star would have hurt their chances, as would the violence that had erupted at one of their performances. 

 

Kurt turned his head over to where the sound had come from and indeed, it wasn’t anyone from the circus.  _ One of the headmaster’s daughters. Wanda, I think.  _ He couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was- olive skin, cascades of raven-black hair that fell long past her shoulders, brilliant emerald green-eyes that seemed to command attention, naturally red lips curved in a faint smirk. 

 

“... I didn’t know you spoke German.” Kurt mumbled, before actually slipping back into his mother tongue. “It’s very good.” 

 

“German is my father’s first language.” Wanda continued, flawlessly, though her accent seemed flavoured of Eastern Europe. “My father collected languages in his life like many people collect stamps. I’m afraid I only know three of them, though.” 

 

“German, English and …?” Kurt asked. 

 

“Hebrew.” Wanda replied. “My brother speaks a little Russian as well. My Hebrew’s terribly rusty, though. I don’t attend synagogue very often. No one to go with.” 

 

“... Kitty? I think she’s Jewish.” Kurt was fairly sure of that, though he’d only heard that second-hand. “Perhaps you could go with her. I wish that I could go to church, but it is difficult with the way I look.” He looked at her and realized that Wanda didn’t seem at all uncomfortable with the way that he looked. It was hard to tell if she was truly comfortable with his appearance, or if she was simply good at faking it. Either way, he was grateful. 

 

“She is. I may, but I think she finds me a little intimidating.” Wanda smiled when she said that, though, so Kurt figured she was amused by that more than discomfited. Her expression changed a little though, into something far more serious. “You saved my life.” 

 

“I … I did what any decent man would have done, where he able.” In happier times, Kurt would have loved to make something more flirtatious out of that line, especially with a beauty like her, but he couldn’t quite manage it. 

 

“You’re more than decent, Kurt Wagner.” Wanda replied with a palpable conviction that reminded Kurt more than a little of her father. “You could have done nothing. You could have run away, hidden.” 

 

“As could you.” Kurt pointed out, sitting up fully and then realizing with mild embarrassment that he wasn’t wearing anything other than some bandages above the waist. That embarrassment grew more acute when he realized that she was very pointedly looking at him. 

 

“You must work out.” Wanda grinned faintly, with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“I was an acrobat in the circus.” Kurt couldn’t help but grin a little shyly back. “It’s very good exercise. And these training sessions they’re starting to throw us into don’t hurt either.” 

 

“Oh. So you’re not only cut, you’re flexible too? Good to know.” Wanda laughed, warm and deep before her expression turned more serious again. “Thank you, though. I mean it.” She then leaned over towards him and he felt warm soft lips brush against his cheek. “My hero.” 

 

And how could he not smile then? He heard himself laugh faintly, almost surprising him with the sound of it- he hadn’t heard himself laugh in a long while. “My lady, it was my pleasure.” He bowed slightly, though a sudden pang made him regret it and he reached towards the bandages that bound his side. “Forgive me, milady, my wounds prevent a proper bow.” 

 

“Then I grant you leave to rest, Ser Fuzzy.” Wanda grinned broadly as she spoke. “Besides, Hank will probably kill me if he sees me talking to the patient before he’s got the all-clear. He’s notoriously protective of his fellow fuzzy people. We’ll talk again soon.” She got up gracefully and exited the room. 

 

Almost as soon as she was gone, Hank walked into the room, wearing his own set of bandages across his chest, spectacles perched somewhat precariously on his nose. He looked back towards where Wanda had left and then towards Kurt with a faint smirk. 

 

“I think she rather likes you. I’d be careful, though.” Hank grinned faintly, showing a neat row of sharp white teeth. 

 

“... her father?” Kurt asked. “I imagine he is fairly protective.” Powerful fathers of beautiful daughters tended to be protective and nothing about Dr. Lehnsherr suggested anything to the contrary. 

 

“No.  _ Her. _ ” Hank laughed before coughing slightly and sitting down next to Kurt. “Thankfully, your wounds were relatively minor. I imagine you’ll likely be carrying some scars from it, but nothing was seriously damaged. You … showed a great deal of courage there. As your doctor I cannot recommend it, of course, but a few people here owe you their lives.” 

 

“... do we know anything about what happened?” Kurt asked. “What was he after? What happened to him?” The questions spilled out of him freely now that he was less distracted by a pretty girl.  _ I’ve always had a weakness for women.  _ The priests back home were well familiar with that- his confessions were normally about girls. Very often about Amanda. Kurt wondered how she was doing, hoped that she could forgive him. 

 

“Very little. It seems he was sent here after the Professor.” Hank sounded like he was leaving some details out and indeed, he seemed more than a little uncomfortable about something. “What matters is that we’re all still here, alive and mostly well.” 

 

“And the Professor?” Kurt asked, wondering if Xavier was feeling the same guilt that Kurt himself carried around from what had happened in Germany. He hoped not, he would not wish that misery on an enemy, let alone a man who had treated him and others with such kindness.  _ I must remember Professor Xavier in my prayers. He has been good to us.  _

 

“He’s quite all right, physically, of course. As to how he feels about it, I’m not really certain. I’ve only spoken with him briefly.” Hank sighed slightly. “But back to you. I’d like to keep you under observation for the rest of the day. At which time you’re free to leave the infirmary.” He took a breath. “And I think that you should take up residence in the boy’s dormitories of the school. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed your company, but I’m concerned about you socially. You’ve interacted very little with the other students.” 

 

Kurt frowned at that. He didn’t particularly wish to face the other students on a regular basis. He knew that several of them were distinctly uncomfortable with the way he looked. 

 

“Kurt.” Hank spoke softly, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know what it feels like- how painful and isolating it can be to … not look like other people. But you can’t hide yourself.” 

 

Kurt briefly thought to point out that Hank was doing the same thing, but he looked up at the haunted, pained look in Dr. McCoy’s eyes and he didn’t dare. 

 

“These are good people, Kurt. It’s natural for people to be uncomfortable with differences, but they’ll see past it soon enough.” Hank’s expression turned into a tiny smile. “At least one of the young ladies here seems to have no problem with the way you look. You know, it’s awfully hard to go out on dates if you’re keeping yourself down here with me.” 

 

Kurt looked up at him, half-disbelieving. “... dates? I can’t do that. Maybe, maybe you’re right about the people here, but the public? They’d never accept the way I look. I read the news about mutants who do not look like ordinary humans.” 

 

“Trust me when I say I’m well-aware of the difficulties faced in that position.” Hank took a breath, pausing for a moment. “Charles was going to speak to you about this a little later, but now is as good a time as any.” Hank produced a small wristwatch-looking device. “A small gift from some of Charles’s friends in a high tech company. It’s called an image inducer. It creates a holographic image around you.

 

I want to be very clear about this- it is  _ only  _ for use outside the grounds of the Institute. It is also very expensive and not easily replaceable, so it needs to be treated with utmost respect. But the Professor and I both believe that you deserve, and frankly need to get out and enjoy the outside world. 

Perhaps you might have a convenient opportunity to do so.” 

 

Kurt looked down for a moment. “... I do not know. To be honest, I have not- even when I was in the circus, I rarely went out into public. Only for official appearances. In character. People believed it was all makeup.” It was strange for Kurt to really consider his fears, when he was always so enthusiastic to perform for audiences. He could not deny that it would feel strange to walk among ordinary people, even if they could not see what he really looked like. “I need to think about that.” 

  
“I understand.” Hank replied. Kurt wished that he could scream at Hank and say that he didn’t understand, that he had no idea, but such a thing would be as cruel as it was false. Kurt knew very well that Dr. McCoy carried his own pain and self-loathing. It was something they had in common and was honestly one of the reasons that Kurt had been so happy to stay with Hank in the lower levels of the Mansion, going up only very occasionally. 

 

At the same time, though, it was easy for Hank to say that people would come to accept him. The people at the Mansion had mostly known Hank for years- Scott, Bobby, Jean, Wanda, Pietro, both Professors Xavier and Lehnsherr had all known him for a very long time. It was not like that for Kurt. Kurt remembered being regarded warily by Bobby in a rare encounter in the kitchen and even better, the terror that was written on Kitty’s face when she’d glimpsed him. 

 

“I understand how difficult it is for you, and if you need a little time to be used to the concept of being out in public, even with the image inducer, that’s quite all right. I’m the last person who will force you to go do something you’re not ready for. But I’m also very, very aware of the price that you will pay if you isolate yourself forever. I also …” Hank took a breath. “I’m more than aware that I have to take my own advice. It’s been a good while since I’ve really been out in public. The public is vaguely aware that I’m a mutant and that my mutation has progressed … I understand your fears because I feel them to. 

 

Again, I understand if it is too early for you to go out, but if you like … there’s a production of  _ As You Like It  _ that I’ve wanted to see for a very long time. I’ve surmised that you are also quite enamoured with the Bard. There’s a show in two weeks time that I’ve got tickets to. I’d be quite happy to take you along if you’d like to go.”

 

Kurt had loved Shakespeare for many years- he had learned some of the English language to be able to appreciate those plays in their original language, but at the same time, surely Hank would have someone he’d rather go with. “Are you certain? I don’t want you to feel obligated to take me along.” At the same time, it was probably impossible to hide a certain degree of enthusiasm about it. His family had never quite understood his passion for literature, even though they’d been obliging enough about finding him books. 

 

“Quite certain.” Hank replied. “Unless, of course, you find someone else you’d rather go with.” Hank fished about in the pockets of his lab coat and handed both tickets over to Kurt. “They’re both yours now. For the record, Wanda’s fond of Shakespeare too, though she’ll rarely admit it to others.” 

 

Kurt didn’t really know what to say in response to that. “... thank you.” He felt guilty taking them, but at the same time, he knew it would be far ruder to decline them. “... do you really think that she would go with me?” 

 

“There’s few certain predictions to be made when women are involved, Kurt.” Hank smiled faintly. “But I’d say your chances are quite good.” His expression turned more serious for a moment. “I can say very confidently however, that however Wanda reacts or whatever she does, it will not be motivated by repulsion at the way you look. I will say, however, that whatever comes of it, that you should be honest with her. She’s been lied to enough in her life and she’s very good at knowing when people are not being honest with her. Or themselves.” 

 

“... we don’t really know each other that well.” Kurt paused. “We’ve really talked the once. I’m also not, I don’t want her to feel obligated because-”

 

“Don’t.” Hank cautioned him. “Wanda does not do things because she is obligated to. And I’m not- I don’t want you to assume that I’m expecting that anything long-term or significant will come of this. But if nothing else, I think she may make a very good friend for you. Whatever happens, happens, and it will be entirely up to you and her. Of course you don’t know her well, but she is well worth getting to know. Truth be told, I think she’s more in need of friends than she lets on. Do not, by the way, tell anyone I told you that. I do not feel like having medical equipment explode in my face.” Hank laughed a little wryly. “And if you’re worried about her father- bluntly put, he does not decide what she does in her life. 

  
And setting aside all this business about Ms. Lehnsherr, you cannot let your guilt decide what you do in your life. I know you’re a man of faith, Kurt and while I will not for an instant lie and say that I share that worldview, I cannot believe that the God you believe in would want you to suffer in guilt and shame. What happened with your brother in German was an awful tragedy, but it was not your fault. You’re a good person, Kurt. You deserve to be happy. But nothing any of us do will help if you don’t give yourself the chance.” 

 

Kurt nodded. “Thank you, Dr. McCoy. Truly.” He looked up at him. “Dr. McCoy?” 

 

“Please, call me Hank. I’m not a professor at this school yet.” Hank smiled softly. 

 

Kurt realized that he didn’t have the words so instead, he simply hugged the larger older mutant. “Thank you, so much.”  


	19. Bobby II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby and Kitty are hanging out together after the events of Logan's attack on the Mansion. 
> 
> Warning: May cause diabetes.

“You know, we’re technically breaking the rules _big time._ ” Bobby stated as he set down the controller, looking again at his hands and the way they were shaking. He looked over to Kitty for a moment. “... you think we’re gonna get in trouble? I mean, I’m totally in your dorm room way after hours here.”

 

Kitty took a breath and set down the controls. “A super-assassin just came into the school trying to kill the Professor and maybe everyone else too. I really don’t think they’re terribly worried that I have a boy in my room right now.” She looked over at him. “... are you okay, Bobby?”

 

“No.” Bobby replied honestly. “I am not okay. I am not even a little slightly maybe okay. Someone was trying to _kill_ us. At a school. At a _school.”_ He felt his body slump. “... how are you doing? You seem .. okay? I mean, you know, if you’re not, you don’t need to front. I’m pretty much on the brink of being a giant sobby mess and you know, it’s just …” He took a deep, slightly shuddery breath.

 

Kitty moved around behind him and put her arms around him- and it was exactly what he would have dreamed of just yesterday, but at the moment all he could think was that it felt good to feel _warmth_ and that someone actually cared about him. It could have been anyone, but he needed to know that somebody did, and it didn’t matter whether they were just friends or if she was just being nice, because he just _needed_ some kindness right then, so badly.

 

“Bobby.” Kitty spoke softly, nearly right in his ear, which should have sent all those crazy pretty girl shivers down his body but just sounded soothing instead. “It’s okay. If you want to cry, just let it out. I’m not going to judge you or anything.”

 

Bobby could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “... but are you okay? Really? I mean, maybe you need a hug too.”

 

Kitty didn’t immediately reply, but did move around a bit so Bobby could fit an arm around her even as she held onto him. A minute or two passed in surprisingly comfortable silence as each held onto the other. And though she didn’t seem to be shaking or about to cry like Bobby wanted so badly to, he could feel her heart hammering against his arm, which was also completely brushing up against her breasts, which Bobby tried not to think too much about, because it would be a really weird and emotionally awkward time to get a boner.

 

“I … I think I’m okay. Which, honestly, is kind of scary in and of itself.” Kitty sighed slightly. “It’s … horrible that someone would do that, but at the same time, I kind of liked being the hero. No. I _really_ liked it. Because it’s something I can control. I can’t control that my parents are splitting up. I can’t control that I’m a mutant and sometimes I have the worst headaches on Earth. But in a fight, I don’t know, I can do something about it. Does that make me awful, Bobby?”

 

“... no! Not at all!” Bobby turned over to look at her, his voice low, almost whispering. “I think it makes you a goddamn badass, Kitty. Like super fierce. Way more fierce than me.”

 

“You were out there too. And you were the one with the one-liner.” Kitty countered. “And that ice wall was pretty awesome. So don’t be thinking you weren’t brave. Because you were totally brave. And super badass.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “We should make a superhero team or something. Like the Avengers. With superhero names.”

 

“... you’re super into this, aren’t you?” Bobby asked. He had to admit he wasn’t quite as thrilled about the notion as Kitty was- it honestly sounded super dangerous. But at the same time, considering how well they’d worked more or less independently, he figured they would make a pretty good team. “But like, we’re at the Xavier Institute, we could be like … X-Factor or X-Force or something, I guess. And yeah, superhero names. And costumes. You need costumes.”

 

“... you think that the Professor would go for something like that?” Kitty asked after a moment.

 

“No. Because even though it’s the awesomest idea ever it’s also really dangerous and terrible. I mean, trying to think of it from what the Professor would think, um, it’s sending kids out into almost like warzone situations? Like some mutant child soldiers or something.” Bobby sighed, absolutely hating the idea of deflating what was, admittedly, a pretty cool idea, even if it also scared him to no end.

 

“I guess you’re right.” Kitty replied, though she sounded a little deflated and annoyed by the notion. “I just really, really hate sitting on my butt here while horrible stuff goes on for mutants all over the world.”

 

“... what about your parents?” Bobby suddenly realized that if news about what had happened got out, that people might be demanding that their kids leave the school. Bobby himself didn’t have much to worry about on that front- his father seemed well-satisfied to have him out of the way. But Kitty’s parents, even if they were splitting up, which really sucked, both clearly loved her and probably wanted her to be safe. They’d already sent a couple of big care packages.

 

“I’m not going back home as long as this place exists. I want to stay and they can’t make me leave. I’ll phase out of their way and live in the crawlspace if I have to.” Kitty’s voice sounded super determined, as it often did. Actually, it was something that had really impressed Bobby about her. Kitty Pryde was not a girl that believed in doing anything half-assedly. “I’m not telling them a thing about what happened here and I hope that the Professor doesn’t either. What about yours?”

 

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me, so I don’t have much to worry about.” Bobby sighed- it was something that he didn’t really love talking about but she’d asked and he didn’t want to be weird and silent about it.

 

“... your mom?” Kitty asked, tentatively.

 

“Mom died when I was six.” Bobby closed his eyes for a moment and when he did, he knew that there was totally at least one good-sized tear going down his face. The worst part for him was that sometimes he realized that he could barely even remember what she looked like. He had to go and look at her picture and remind himself about her. It made him feel like a parasite, like the worst kid that ever existed.

 

“I’m sorry.” Kitty half-mumbled, though he didn’t really mind, because all it seemed to do, really, was to make her squeeze him a little and nuzzle a little into his chest and that went a very, very long way towards making him feel better.

 

“It’s okay … I mean, it happened a long time ago and ... “ Bobby trailed off and gave her a little squeeze himself. “I’m probably not Shaky McGee anymore. We could probably try playing Mario Kart again.” Normally Bobby was way into something more violent like Call of Duty or Mortal Kombat, but after what happened, he wasn’t really in the mood to have Sub-Zero freeze someone’s chest in a block, and tear them in half by their spine. Right now, violence was feeling a bit too real for him to really enjoy pretend violence.

 

“I’m … not really super into video games right now.” Kitty replied and Bobby didn’t even know how to deal with that, because how could someone not really be into video games? Bobby didn’t know how that was actually possible. Video games were one of the best things _ever._ But maybe Kitty was just finally getting tired and wanted to get to sleep and, well, it was a ridiculous hour of the morning, so there was no real surprise there, even if he really, really didn’t want to go. Bobby really liked where he was.

 

“... I guess it’s pretty late, yeah. I mean, if you want to get to sleep, that’s fine. I mean, I dunno if we’ll have classes or whatever, but we’ll probably have-”

 

“I said I didn’t really want to play video games. Not that I wanted you to go.” Kitty peeled away just enough that she could look him in the eye and there was this totally slightly weird glint in her eyes and his heart started going a million times faster because she was absolutely, crazy gorgeous beautiful and she didn’t want him to go and that didn’t really make sense, but he really didn’t want to go either. And she didn’t want him to go, so that was pretty excellent.

 

“... well, uh, here I am. At your service.” Bobby shifted a little but found himself smiling broadly even though he didn’t actually tell his face to do that. “What do you want to do?”

 

Kitty’s eyebrow lifted up a little, and she looked like she was going to say something awesomely snarky, because she often did say awesomely snarky things, but then her eyebrow went down to its default position and she gave him a slightly mischievous Mona Lisa smile that made his already quickening heart go in double-time, like it was drum solo time at a rock concert. Then her lips parted into a grin, showing those impossibly perfect teeth.

 

“Close your eyes, Bobby.”

 

Bobby had learned that it was usually a good idea to do what pretty girls wanted, especially when it wasn’t something that was obviously and incredibly dangerous. And honestly, he was willing to run the risk that Kitty was going to pull some sort of hilariously sweet prank on him. He was ready for that possibility. It was only fair, though he had to admit that her prank game wasn’t quite as on point as the rest of her was. So he closed his eyes obediently, awaiting whatever Kitty had in mind.

 

He was ready for anything. He was more prepared than all the Boy Scouts of America and every other country they had Boy Scouts. There was nothing that Kitty could do that would really surprise him at that point.

 

But then he felt something perfectly soft and warm brush up against his lips and everything went straight out the window. _Oh my god, she is kissing me. She’s actually kissing me._

 

_Kiss her back, you dumbass._

 

Bobby could only hope that he didn’t do it catastrophically badly, because the truth was that he’d never actually properly kissed a girl before, but he did his best to respond. And the whole kiss probably lasted about five or six seconds but Bobby just wanted to take that moment and live in it forever, because how could anything get better?

 

When they parted, Bobby slowly opened his eyes and she was smiling softly at him and there was a definite blush creeping up her cheeks, which probably matched his own blush, because his face definitely felt warm. Bobby grinned at her, probably the stupidest, goofiest, loon grin that the world had ever seen. Hopefully she didn’t mind, because he was about as happy as happy could be.

 

Kitty laughed softly and then grinned at him. “Still disappoint that we’re not playing video games?”

 

Bobby didn’t really have a snappy comeback to that, so he decided to lean in to kiss her again, because video games didn’t really even have a space in his brain right now. She seemed happy enough with his reply, judging by how enthusiastically she kissed him back. Bobby reached up with a hand, ostensibly to brush away a bit of loose hair but really because he just really, really wanted to touch her.

 

When they parted again, their eyes met and he could only imagine that the slightly goofy grin and vivid scarlet blush he saw in her was mirrored in his own face. They even started laughing at the same time and Bobby was pretty sure there wasn’t a better sound in all the universe as her laughing. And it felt good to hear himself laugh too, considering how terrifying and horrible everything had seemed only a short while ago.

 

“Oh god, it’s almost four in the morning.” Kitty laughed again softly. “My dad would kill me if he knew I had a boy in my room at 4 AM. And probably you too.” She laughed and then playfully pushed him back onto the bed. “Think we’re going to get into a ton of trouble?”

 

“... not really.” Bobby grinned and pulled her closer to him. “And let them come. I can freeze the door and then you can totally make a sweet getaway with your powers. I’m not leaving until you kick me out.”

 

“Deal.” Kitty replied as she curled up next to him, a leg draped over his leg and an arm looped over his chest. “You make a nice pillow anyway.” She rested her head on his chest. “Not that I’m actually sleepy or anything.” Just as she said that, though, she yawned ever so slightly. “Maybe just a little.”

 

As soon as she yawned, Bobby yawned a little himself. “It’s okay, I’m a little tired too. Crazy day. Really crazy day.” He started idly running his hand through her hair, which of course, was impossibly silky and soft. “Maybe they’ll cancel classes tomorrow. Not really wanting to have to go to classes in a few hours.”

 

“Me either.” Kitty replied softly, kissing his cheek and his jaw softly. “... you know, it was really exciting, it really was. But it was scary too. Um, could you just … do you think you could just stay? Please?”

 

“Yeah. I can stay here.” Bobby replied, for once not even feeling the urge to make a joke or a snarky comment about it. The truth was, that he didn’t really want to be alone right now either. Leaving right now would probably mean that he’d have to directly face all those fears inside of him and all the awful feelings that would dredge up. Staying meant that he didn’t have to deal with all that right then. Very significantly, it also meant that he got to cuddle with a really super gorgeous girl. All things considered, it was really one of the easier decisions he’d made in his life.

 

Kitty snuggled in a little closer and Bobby closed his eyes and went to sleep.

 


	20. Pietro II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro finds out about what happened at the Institute. 
> 
> Needless to say, it isn't exceptionally pleasant.

_So … that’s what it’s like. Huh._

 

Pietro blearily peered over to where Tabby was softly snoring next to him. He peered over to the alarm clock again- 5:15. He wouldn’t have to be out of bed for three or maybe even four hours yet. He looked back over at where Tabby was sleeping for a moment- wishing she was awake too. She might have been up for another round, or at least, something. Reluctantly, he flopped his head back down on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. _I should be over the moon right now. I mean, I just lost my virginity. I should be excited, shouldn’t I?_

 

_Why do I have this weird feeling in my stomach?_

 

Pietro tried closing his eyes but there was a fly or something buzzing around the room- there wasn’t a fan or something that Pietro could turn on to drown it out. He opened his eyes again to sit up and see where it was, so he could kill the damn thing and just go back to bed. The buzzing stopped for a moment. _Maybe it’s moved on. Stupid fucking fly._ He pulled the available covers over his head, hoping maybe he wouldn’t be able to hear it again.

 

Then something else started and he realized immediately that there was no fly- someone was texting him. Blearily, he looked around for the phone. He couldn’t see it anywhere. The buzzing stopped and then a very, very familiar ringtone started up insistently. _Why is Wanda trying to phone me at what the fuck o’ clock in the morning?_ He wanted to simply ignore it and go to bed and sleep a few hours and maybe wake up and have sex again before he had to go back to his boring, sexless life at the Xavier Institute where his father doted on Wanda and mostly ignored him. It had been nice pretending that he’d been brought for a special reason, that he was something other than an also-ran.  

 

It wasn’t going to work though- he wasn’t going to ignore his sister, couldn’t ignore her. He slipped out of bed and went over to the chair that his pants had been haphazardly flung across, got the phone and put it to his ear.

 

“I swear to fuck, Wanda, if this isn’t important, I am going to _kill_ you.”

 

“Where the fuck are you?!?” Wanda hissed over the phone.

 

“In a hot girl’s bedroom. Wanting to get some fucking sleep because it’s ass o’ clock in the morning.” Pietro replied, assuming that Wanda assumed he was being sarcastic, but he was actually being totally truthful about it.

 

“Where’s Father?” There was something really weird and insistent about Wanda’s voice.

“Uh, he’s here too. Dunno if he got lucky too. Probably.” Pietro wanted to roll his eyes, but the tone coming from Wanda made him pause. “But seriously, what is up?” He tried not to speak too loud, not wanting to wake Tabby up.

 

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours, you dumb fuck. The Mansion got attacked. Someone tried to kill Uncle Charles.” Wanda was yelling into the phone, loudly enough that he was honestly worried that _she’d_ be the one to wake Tabby up.

 

Pietro froze at that. “Hold up- _what?_ Repeat that shit. Now.”

 

Wanda’s sigh on the other end of the phone was weapons-grade, but it dissolved into something that honestly made his heart break. Pietro knew how hard Wanda tried to maintain herself, to keep control of her emotions. He was one of the only people that ever got to see Wanda more vulnerable- in fact, he was pretty sure the only other person who’d seen Wanda cry in the last nearly decade was Jean Grey. _And that is some emotional shit that’s way too complicated for me to even deal with._

 

“Pietro. Someone sent a brainwashed mutant assassin to kill Uncle Charles.” There was real rage in her voice, but also deep concern- Wanda had always liked Charles Xavier more than Pietro did. Pietro didn’t have anything against the guy, but his idealism annoyed him. The world didn’t actually work like that- something that Wanda was smart enough to understand, but she tended to find idealistic people adorable. “We stopped him. Me, Kurt, Dr. McCoy, Bobby, Kitty. Scott and Jean. If we weren’t all there, the fucker would have killed him, Pietro.”

 

The anger in her voice broke into a very real sob- and Pietro felt an instant swell in his heart and in his stomach. His free hand balled up into a fist. Wanda was maybe the strongest, toughest person he knew, even more than Dad. He wanted to _kill_ the motherfucker that could make her cry.

 

“I’ve been trying to reach you and Father for hours, Pietro. Where are you?” Her voice was clear enough, but Pietro heard something slightly different- he heard _where were you? Where were you when someone attacked our home and tried to kill a man who I love like family? Where were you when I needed you, Pietro?_

 

He’d promised not to tell anyone, even Wanda about the house, about the fact that Dad was gathering mutant allies of his own outside the Institute, that he expected fully that he was going to break with Charles at some point in the future. Pietro had promised Dad not to tell Wanda about that until the right time. _Fuck that. I’m not going to lie to my twin sister now._

 

“Dad’s got … mutant friends in a house in the city. With a friend of his, he’s been gathering them for awhile. He took me out to meet them today. Jesus fuck, Wanda, please, trust me when I say that if I had any idea anything like that was going down- I would have run there myself. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really, really sorry.”

 

There was a pause on the other side of the phone, and Pietro wasn’t sure whether he wished he was telepathic so he could know what Wanda was thinking on the other side or whether he was glad that he couldn’t. Even for him, Wanda Lehnsherr was a difficult woman to read sometimes- something that Pietro knew she’d cultivated by long practice and effort.

 

He saw Tabby stirring in the bed next to him and he just hoped she was turning over, because he couldn’t deal with her right now. _It’ll be easier if I can just go. She probably won’t really care. It’s not like she’s my fucking girlfriend._ Pietro was pretty sure she’d slept with most of the other guys in the house at least once, not that he really cared about that. She was entitled to fuck whoever she wanted. It really wasn’t his business.

 

“... I know, Pietro.” He heard Wanda take a deep breath on the other side. “I know you would.” She took another breath. “I need you to go wake up or talk to Father and tell him this. He told you not to tell me about that house, didn’t he?”

 

It was Pietro’s turn to breathe and pause for a moment- it was a little known secret that Pietro was often as terrified of his father as he was resentful of him. He owed it to Wanda, though. He wasn’t there when she needed him. The least that he could do was wake up their asshole Dad and tell him what happened. If the man even professed to care for a man he constantly called his best friend, he’d burn rubber getting back to the Institute.

 

“What happened to the motherfuck that attacked you?” Pietro asked insistently.

 

“... I think Uncle Charles has him in the basements. Knowing him, he’ll probably be trying to help the man.” He heard a harsh sigh from Wanda. “I’m going to go. Go tell Father what’s happened.”   
  


Pietro sighed harshly and started gathering up his clothes and putting them on. Just as he was pulling up his boxers, Tabby rolled over to face him, blearily opening his eyes.

 

“Where are you going? It’s … the fuck time is it even?” She opened her eyes slightly to look at him as he grabbed his pants and started putting them on. By the time she’d propped herself up on one elbow- which he had to admit, made for a pretty great view, he was already working on his shirt. It only took a few seconds for him to sort of reasonably dress himself.

 

“Uh, important family emergency. I guess it’s weird to say thanks precisely, but uh, I had a good time last night? We’ll talk soon, promise.” Pietro gave his best fake smile and a little wave as he dashed out the door at lightning speed, to appear in front of the master bedroom where his father and Raven no doubt were.

 

Decorum would suggest that he knock very gently, but it was really important and also important for his father to know who it was, so he rapped on the door as quickly as he could, as hard as he could without really messing up his fingers. He didn’t hear anything at first, so he knocked again, a touch slower this time, but even harder. _If he doesn’t answer this time, I will knock the fucking door down, I swear to God._

 

He decided to wait for a few seconds to see if anyone heard- and about five seconds later, there was some faint mumbling from a feminine voice before he heard someone getting up. The door opened and Pietro was face to face with his father, looking balefully down at him, clad in a housecoat, and transparently _only_ in one- Pietro had no really direct evidence for that but he just _knew_ it. Gross as that fact was, he couldn’t let that get in his way.

 

“I assume this is important.” Erik glowered at Pietro with all the intensity of a man who was likely interrupted doing something considerably more intimate than simply sleeping.

 

“Yes, it’s important.” Pietro replied. “I’d rather talk just the two of us. Something happened at the Institute.”

 

His father’s eyes narrowed for a moment but then he gave a small nod. “We’ll go down to the den, then.” He opened the door and the two of them walked down the stairs quietly to the remnant of the admittedly pretty riotous party that had broken out among the people at the House after his dad and Raven had gone to bed. His father’s eyes swept amongst the wreckage with palpable disdain. _Sorry Dad, but that’s what you get when you put teenagers together without a lot of rules._

 

“All right.” Erik let out a small sigh as he sat on the chair, using his powers to control the fireplace and start it going. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“I got a call from Wanda a few minutes ago- she’s been trying to call us for a long time. Last night or like, several hours ago, someone tried to attack the Mansion. She said it was a mutant and they were somehow brainwashed.” Pietro paused for a moment. “They were trying to kill Professor Xavier, or at least that’s what she said. Wanda doesn’t know for sure, but she thinks they’re still there. That the Professor’s got them in a holding cell or something in the sub-basements.”

 

Pietro’s father was silent for a long moment and all of time and space seemed to collapse as Pietro could clearly hear his father’s breathing, the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, the faint crackle of the fireplace. It might have been ten or fifteen seconds that passed in silence, but to Pietro, it felt like months or years. The whole time, his father’s eyes were fixed on his.

 

After that time, Erik got up off of the chair. “We’ll have to go back earlier than expected, then.” There was no mention of how he felt about what had happened, or what he intended to do about it, simply a laconic declaration that they would be going back. “I suggest if you have anything to get in Tabitha’s room, you do it quickly. I intend to be on the road going back to the Institute in ten minutes time.”

 

“No, I got all my shit right here.” Pietro shrugged. “I’ll wait downstairs for you, I guess. Say thanks to Raven I guess.”

 

His father only replied with a curt nod as he climbed back up the stairs to get dressed before heading downstairs. Pietro sat down in the chair for a moment, suddenly poleaxed by the reality of what had happened. _If they can send one person to do that, they could do it again. People are kidnapping and brainwashing mutants._ He took a few breaths, breaths that seemed to rattle around the room like his father’s had a minute or two ago.

 

_Maybe Father’s right about all this. Maybe he really is right. If this can happen, maybe it’s a fool’s crusade to try and seek peace._

 

His father took only five minutes to dress. They were silent as they left the brownstone house and got into the car. That uncomfortable silence continued for the first ten minutes of the trip. Pietro didn’t dare put in his headphones, for fear that Wanda would call them again. He hesitantly opened up his phone to go over all the texts she’d been sending, from the first ones earlier in the evening when she was teasing him about going on a ‘special trip’ with their father to the increasingly frantic and angry ones just before she’d reached him.

 

Another one popped up a minute or two later.

 

**Are you coming home?**

 

**Yeah, I’m with Dad. We’re about twenty-five minutes out?**

 

It was then that his father finally broke the silence. “Was that Wanda?”

 

“Yeah, it was Wanda. Dad … this is so fucked. She was scared out of her mind. We shouldn’t have gone.” Pietro shook his head, trying desperately to keep his own thoughts and feelings together. “If you were there, the whole thing would’ve been over instantly.”

 

“I had no way of knowing, Pietro.” His father didn’t sound quite so emphatic this time as he had in the past. Indeed, Pietro swore that he sounded slightly haunted by the whole thing himself. Then he frowned and Pietro knew that the game was up. “You told her, didn’t you? Where we were.”

 

“... yeah. I told her. What was I going to say, oh, we’re, what, at a hotel because the fucking Metallica concert ended a little late to get back into the city?” Pietro was surprised at the vehemence in his tone, and the way that he was able to look his father right in the eye. “If you thought that I was going to lie to Wanda about anything, Dad. You shouldn’t. She deserves to know everything.”

 

Erik Lehnsherr remained tight-lipped. “Perhaps she does. Hopefully _she_ will at least be capable of keeping things confidential.” Erik’s phone obediently levitated over to where he was, specially gilded buttons dialling Wanda.

 

“Wanda. I’m sorry about what happened- yes, it is _terribly_ upsetting …”

 

Pietro wished that he could hear Wanda on the other side of the phone.

 

“Wanda, I understand that you’re angry, but it’s very, very important that you don’t tell Charles about the house immediately. Surely he’s got enough to worry about. I’ll tell him about it soon, I promise.”

 

He was using that particular tone, that almost hypnotic tone that he employed when he wanted someone to do something against their will. Pietro had to admit that his father had an incredible knack for making entirely unreasonable requests seem reasonable, for playing off of people. Dad was being very careful to acknowledge Wanda’s anger, to assume just enough blame for what had happened that she would be a little mollified. It wouldn’t work forever but probably long enough for Dad to figure out a means of framing it for Charles.

 

It was easy for Pietro to critique it all, because he wasn’t on the receiving end, but the truth was, that their father was a truly expert manipulator and had never particularly hesitated to employ those gifts on his kids, his close friends, anyone who he wanted something from. It was enough to make Pietro sick, but at the same time, he knew that when it came time for his father to want something from Pietro, that he’d fall for it more easily than Wanda would. Because Pietro was smart enough to know he was a complete sucker for his father.

 

_What’s going to happen, though? With the political shit in DC? This attack on the Institute? With me? With Wanda? With the people at the house?_

_  
Where is this all going?_

  
  



	21. Piotr II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piotr is trapped in the Hellfire Club, having to listen to Emma's Mean Girls With Superpowers routine. 
> 
> Also, he meets a mysterious woman who seems to want to help him ...

“I suppose you’re wondering why I spent so much of my money to buy this dingy old nightclub, didn’t you?” Emma Frost looked over at Piotr, a dangerous smile etched on her face, blue eyes practically ablaze.

 

In many ways, Emma Grace Frost was a fairly typical nineteen year old of her social class, except infinitely more dangerous. People tended to comment on her beauty first and foremost, though Piotr knew that beauty was a carefully created and manipulated asset. She’d had several cosmetic surgeries and employed a team of very talented people to keep her beautiful. Piotr knew that her hair was naturally a mousy brown, that her breasts had probably once been rather small, that carefully selected heels boosted her unimpressive height. It was all tastefully and subtly done, but Piotr’s eye was more drawn to natural beauties than carefully artificed ones.

 

It was Emma’s intelligence that struck Piotr, how quick she was on her feet, how she knew exactly how to talk to people to charm or terrify them. She was more than conversant in the technological aspects of her industry and could speak to directors and producers in the jargon of their industry as easily as she could talk to politicians in theirs. She read obsessively and surprisingly widely. Even without her telepathic abilities, she would be a dangerous and capable manipulator.

 

One could not, of course, ignore that terrifying power- Piotr had seen it in devastating effect against Senator Kelly. He did not care to see such a thing again, to see a man’s mind laid totally bare and almost totally obliterated and then reconstituted, almost, but not quite intact. _That is a power that no man or woman should possess._

 

“Oh Piotr, darling, you’re not still all bent up about what happened to my dear friend Robert, are you? He’s _fine.”_ Emma laughed, just as icily as her name suggested. “I suppose perhaps it’s an unpleasant thing for someone to see for the first time. You still haven’t answered me, though.”

 

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I am not a businessman.” Piotr shrugged. If she felt like telling him, she would- he wasn’t going to beg for it. He knew that he had to prop her ego up to a certain extent, but he refused to do it more than he needed to.

 

“The Hellfire Club does a very good job of drawing the traditional social elites to its parties, but … it doesn’t skew very much towards a younger demographic.” Emma turned away and gestured towards the enormity of the mostly empty club. “The vast majority of mutants in the world, my dearest Rasputin, are in their twenties or younger. And mostly, they are desperate for a place where they are welcome. Charles Xavier realizes that, with his school in Westchester County. But not every mutant wants to go to a special boarding school, do they?”

 

“I suppose not.” Piotr wished that a special school for mutants existed when he was younger. _And if Illyana turns out to be a mutant …_

 

If Emma noticed his thoughts, she didn’t say anything about it. “I’m going to create a literal Hellfire Club here. To bring young mutants together in one place where we can observe them, reach out to the ones we desire to join our organization.” She smirked faintly and then turned again to face Piotr. “You should feel privileged. You’re the first person to hear about this. Even Sebastian doesn’t know yet. Oh, of course I’ll tell him soon, but I want it to be all but accomplished then.”

 

Piotr knew well that even Emma, for all of her ambition and power and callous disregard for most other people, was wary of Sebastian Shaw, a man who seemed to effortlessly dominate other seemingly powerful people. Piotr tried to clear that from his thoughts as quickly as possible, though, because he knew that Emma did not like being reminded of her fear of Shaw and her manifest desire to please him in all things. Piotr knew they were lovers of a sort- though he doubted that ‘love’ entered into it in any meaningful way.

 

He knew that Emma expected him to say something, to somehow praise her for her insight and brilliance. “I’m certain he’ll be well-pleased.”

 

“Of course he will be. He knows very well that I’m his most capable agent. He did make me his White Queen after all.” Her eyes met his for a moment and despite the gigantic difference in size between them he felt somewhat intimidated by the intensity of the glare. The moment, though, that he felt that, she immediately smiled, having clearly got what she wanted. “You’re a good boy, Piotr Rasputin. Serve me faithfully and you’ll come a long way in the Hellfire Club.”

 

“Thank you, I will.” Piotr replied respectfully. He looked around at the club space. It would take some time for everything to be ready, though Emma’s resources were admittedly vast. With her father’s death, she had taken control over a multibillion dollar media empire. Frost Media owned one of the major American networks, a huge film production studio and something like a quarter of all American newspapers. Still, it would take time and he knew that Emma wasn’t a particularly patient woman. She wanted everything and she wanted it right then.

 

“Of course you will.” Emma replied with a sweetness so transparently fake that he swore he got an aftertaste of aspartame in his mouth. “Maybe your sister will enjoy the club in a few years when she’s old enough.” Her eyes glinted maliciously and his heart dropped down into his stomach. “Oh … I guess you don’t know. They didn’t tell you. One of Tessa’s little talents? Is that she can smell a mutant-” And Piotr swore he could almost hear _like the bitch she is_ between the lines there- “And your dearest Snowflake? She’s a mutant.” She sighed. “I would have told you if I would’ve known that you didn’t realize. Sometimes Sebastian, the dear, likes to hold his cards close to his chest.”

 

Piotr had to fight with every bit of willpower he had not to turn into metal or ball his hands into fists or show his anger at her even speaking about Illyana in any obvious way. Or his utter dread at the notion of Sebastian knowing that his sister was a mutant- if the Hellfire Club knew that, they would likely try and induct her into their vile masquerade. _I did this to protect Illyana and my mother, not to put them into unimaginably worse danger._

 

Emma actually ghosted the words ‘danger’ back at him, pretending to be shocked and horrified, but clearly taking more than a little malicious joy in it. “Piotr, darling, none of us would ever dream of putting your precious Illyana in any danger. Our intentions are to make the world _better_ for mutantkind. And all the more so for the families of loyal servants of the Club like you are. I should be angry that you’d even think such a thing.” She put on a smile that looked warm and genuine. “I know what it’s like to be a protective sibling. I’ve got a big brother too and bless his heart, I’ll always be his little sister, no matter how powerful I become.”

 

Piotr still didn’t like the idea of Illyana possibly becoming involved with the Club, but it did sound like Emma understood how important Illyana was to him, that they would not at least cross that line. He took a heavy sigh and hands that had ultimately curled up into fists relaxed. He nodded heavily. “I understand. It is just … she is very young yet. I do not wish her life to be any more complicated than it needs to be.”

 

“Of course, Piotr, of course.” Emma smiled softly and put a hand gently on his arm. “I’m talking about some point in the future when she’s older and can make her own decisions. Don’t worry, nobody’s taking her away from you.”

 

Piotr nodded and sighed heavily, feeling a little guilty for having thought so harshly of Emma- he didn’t always love her methods of getting things done, but now that he thought of it, she did have the greater good of mutantkind at heart. One couldn’t precisely call her selfless, but perhaps enlightened self-interest was a fair way of describing her attitudes. And what was wrong with profiting from doing good? He supposed he couldn’t really see why.

 

“I’ll have to make quite a few changes to the space, of course. Larger dance floor. Some rooms where people can meet quietly. And we’ll have to _entirely_ rethink the bar space. I’ll need to line up performing talent, hire a staff. Interior decorators. What about the food?” Emma laughed and then waved her hand as if brushing off all those concerns as utterly beneath her focus. “But when all that is resolved, I’ll be in control of the most important social nexus for mutants in the city, and as mutants seem to be congregating here, perhaps the entire country. Eventually, of course, I’ll consider expansion into other markets- but this location is admirably near the _actual_ Hellfire Club.”

 

Emma went on for some time- Piotr had learned that she was distressingly fond of monologuing in front of Piotr, who was a captive audience to all of it. A few minutes later, however, Piotr knew that they were due to return to the Hellfire Club. Emma had a meeting with Sebastian and as much as she hated to be interrupted for even important reasons, Piotr knew that it would really not do to keep Sebastian Shaw waiting even a few minutes.

 

“We should return to the Hellfire Club.” Piotr finally said, pointedly looking at his watch. “Mr. Shaw does not like to be kept waiting.”

 

Emma turned to glare at him briefly but he knew that she wouldn’t press the point too severely- because Sebastian really did not wish to be kept waiting and Sebastian was one of the few people that Emma truly feared. “I suppose we shouldn’t keep Sebastian dearest waiting. It would be a travesty if the tea got cold.”

 

Piotr couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly at that particular little joke. It was difficult for him to imagine Sebastian daintily sipping tea, but also strangely rewarding. They left the largely empty nightclub building, got into the car and drove back to Hellfire headquarters in silence, save for Emma speaking with a business associate on her cellphone. Piotr gathered that some pilot for a television show had not been particularly successful. He felt a twinge of pity for the poor person who had to communicate failure to Emma. She was not particularly forgiving of even the mildest incompetence.

 

It did not take them long to get to the extravagant Fifth Avenue site of the Hellfire Club- the current building which dated from the 1850s, though the property had been owned by the Hellfire Club since the middle of the eighteenth century. He remembered Shaw’s toady Leland proudly showing him all the members of the Club in its earliest incarnation, a membership that included several of the most powerful families of America at that time. As far as Piotr could see, little had changed. Tony Stark was a member of the Club, as were Norman Osborn and Wilson Fisk.

 

The modern Club, however, was very much the project of Sebastian Shaw- as much as Piotr regarded the man as honestly evil, his energy and ambition were impossible to deny. It had been Sebastian that had formalized the nebulous notion of the Inner Circle with ranks based on chess pieces, who had brought the loosely affiliated branches of the Club around the world under his rule as Lord Paramount. It had been Sebastian Shaw who had mobilized the resources of the club towards unparalleled political and economic power- a power that seemed only to be growing continually, with Sebastian Shaw at the centre of it, like some titanic octopus, tentacles reaching into every centre of influence in the nation and indeed, the world.

 

Emma for her part, would be going in to meet Sebastian herself and Piotr could only wonder if the meeting was entirely business or something more intimate. Sebastian, Piotr knew, often saw the two things as one and the same. In any case, it was none of his business. There was little for him to do but to wait for whenever she would be done. He busied himself looking at the official portraits of the Hellfire Club’s most important members, some of them among the lords and ladies of the Inner Circle, but others outside of it.

 

 _Not an honest piece of art in any of them. No soul._ Piotr sighed- he knew it was not likely that he would find much to admire in official portraits of powerful businesspeople and politicians. It was the nature of such portraits to flatter the people who commissioned them rather than to try and capture their inner reality. He couldn’t blame the artists, many of whom would be seeing the best paycheques for their work that they would have had in years. Perhaps it would even fund the creation of some worthwhile art- it was really impossible to draw any conclusions about the talent of artists from pieces like this.

 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone look so … intently at those boring old portraits before. Either you’re some kind of artist or you’re as bored as I am.” Piotr heard a warm, feminine voice behind him, speaking in a British accent that sounded lived-in, a million times more genuine than Emma’s put-on inflections were.

 

“... I do paint a little-” He turned around towards the source of the voice and was confronted with a statuesque, incredibly beautiful woman, slender, golden-skinned with delicate, perfectly proportioned features, but at the same time, clearly physically fit. Most remarkable though, was her hair and eyes, both a shade of purple that Piotr knew wasn’t a naturally occurring shade and yet, he was equally convinced that she didn’t dye her hair or wear contacts. He could have paid a million dollars for a canvas and paints. “Hello.” He finally managed to say, extending his hand. “My name is Piotr Rasputin.”

 

“You paint do you?” The mysterious beauty replied in that impeccable accent of hers. “Marvellous. My name is Elisabeth Braddock. How interesting that you’re an artist. As it happens, I’ve been looking for an artist. How are you acquainted with the Club? You sound Russian- is there a branch in Moscow these days?” She took his hand and gave it a shake, her eyes looking him over, lingeringly. He did the same, though he resisted the peevish desire to linger himself, making his eyes keep moving. “Of course, you can call me Betsy, darling.”

  
“I work for Emma Frost.” Piotr saw no point in being dishonest with her, even if he had the sudden and immature desire to portray himself as something greater than he was. His hands still itched for a canvas and paints. “I’m her guard, actually.”

 

“So what you’re saying is that your rates are probably affordable then.” Betsy replied smoothly. “How about I give you my number and you get in touch with me when Miss Frost lets you out of her clutches. Unless, of course, she doesn’t?” Betsy raised her eyebrows delicately, though the implication was far from delicate.

 

Piotr felt, first, that he had to decline, that it wasn’t right for him to accept any such offer, and then he wondered, what the catch was. It was clear that Betsy was affiliated with the Hellfire Club in some way- what if she was simply in some struggle for political influence with Emma Frost? But at the same time, he still found himself hopelessly, desperately wanting to capture her on paper. It didn’t matter if she kept the painting forever and never let him see it again. It would be a supreme honor just to depict her in some way.

 

She reached out and put her hand on his arm and looked up at him. “Piotr. I don’t play games for the sake of cruelty. I’m looking for someone who can paint.” She smiled up at him. “It certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s a very handsome artist.” She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek softly, then whispered into his ear. “Shall I give you my number?”

 

“... yes. I’d like that.” Piotr felt dumbstruck, like he was a little boy again talking to a girl that he wanted to ask to the school dance.

 

The next surprise was when her number appeared directly in his mind- _she is a telepath too?_

 

_Indeed, I am, Mr. Rasputin. But unlike Emma, I don’t like fucking with people’s minds for fun._

 

At the same time, she put on an effortless, dazzling smile. “I suggest you don’t take _too_ long to get back to me, handsome. I don’t like to be kept waiting forever.”

 

_I can help you. I know you don’t want to be trapped in the Hellfire Club._

 

Piotr reasoned that she was trying to keep a casual front. He smiled back as casually as he could. “Of course. I’ll give you a call as soon as I can.”

 

_It isn’t just about me. There are people who depend on me. It is not so simple._

 

_I know about your family. I can help them too._

 

_Why?_

 

_Because the Hellfire Club are evil bastards and you’re not an evil bastard, Piotr Rasputin._

 

_… it is a front then? Wanting me to paint you._

 

Betsy blew him a kiss and gave him a saucy wink and walked off in a manner that very, very much accentuated her curves. It made Piotr crave a canvas and paints again and he couldn’t help but feel terribly disappointed that he wouldn’t get to paint her after all, even if maybe, just maybe, she could somehow help him and his family. He knew it was a silly and selfish wish, but he couldn’t help but feel it all the same.

 

_Oh, heavens no. You’ll get your portrait, Mr. Rasputin._

 

_Emma is a telepath. What if she reads that I’ve been speaking with you._

 

_She won’t, darling. I promise. We’ll speak soon. How are you with nudes?_

 

If Piotr had a million thoughts running through his head immediately prior to hearing that, they all completely stopped. The last thing he heard in his mind as she left was the psychic equivalent of laughter. He would be off today at ten. Piotr would assuredly be getting in touch with Betsy almost immediately. Then he’d go home and pick up his art supplies. She was probably just joking to get a rise out of him … and he knew that if he kept thinking about her naked, that was precisely what he was going to get.

 

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. _Why would she help me? Who is she with?_ As his brain slowly returned to relative normal, he found he had a lot of questions, difficult questions that needed to be answered- but at the same time, he was trapped. If there was even a tiny chance that she could actually help him and his family, he needed to take it.

 

And if there was even the tiniest chance that she actually wanted him to paint her nude, he would have to have all his supplies at hand.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betsy was born in Hong Kong and was adopted by the Braddocks. So she's both Asian (Chinese) and British at the same time. And has awesome purple hair.


	22. Jean II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean considers the situation at the Mansion. Her and Scott go on a hunt for the elusive Westchester Bobcat.

Jean Grey decided that God, or Mother Nature, or whoever, had a decidedly twisted sense of humour, because the day after the attack, when she knew Charles was seriously considering the closure of the Institute- instead of being groomy and grey and pensive like it ought to have been, it was brilliant and sunny, almost unseasonably warm, warm enough that she could go outside wearing only a sweater, instead of the fall jacket she would certainly have needed under normal circumstances.

 

She’d decided to take a walk along the river that ran through the Xavier Institute’s property- one that would meet with the Hudson- if she followed that river, soon enough she’d be in her tiny hometown of Annandale, almost entirely comprised of Bard College. Jean wondered what her mother and father were doing at the moment- it was a weekend, so Mom wouldn’t be teaching any classes and in such a quiet rural area, most likely Dad wasn’t working either. Dad might be getting a last round of golf in before the snow inevitably came. She imagined Mom was taking a walk outside like her or maybe sitting on the veranda with a cup of hot tea. 

 

_ What am I going to tell them about what’s been happening lately? Can I just lie to them and say everything’s fine?  _

 

Jean knew that she was unusually privileged among mutants in many ways- she couldn’t quite say her parents were comfortable with her mutation, but they’d loved her and supported her the whole time. She knew that Warren’s father hid an increasing resentment of his son behind a veneer of civility, that Kitty’s mother was desperately trying to cover up her fear of mutants and not entirely succeeding, that Bobby’s father had more or less dumped him on the Institute. 

 

Jean Grey had the option, more or less, of disengaging from being a mutant- unlike Hank, Kurt or Warren, her mutation was not visibly obvious. In a crowd, she’d be likelier to draw catcalls than protests- at college, she’d have to be wary of frat boys, not hate groups. For Scott, for Pietro and Wanda, it wasn’t the way they looked that forced them to deal with mutant issues whether they wanted to or not, it was their families. There was no real choice for them, they’d be mutants first and anything else second. She doubted Scott could even imagine a different life, she knew that Pietro and Wanda sometimes resented it, though both ferociously identified with their mutant identities. 

 

So, if she wanted to, she could simply walk away from all of this- and would anyone truly blame her? They would be hurt, of course and they would miss her, and she knew if she left she would break more than one heart, but they would probably understand. Nobody had signed up to be caught up in murderous riots with skinheads or to be hunted down by brainwashed assassins. It would be the reasonable thing to do, the safe thing to do, the rational thing to do to simply quit and go home.

 

Or, alternatively, she could choose to  _ not  _ have a desperately boring white-bread upper-middle class existence. She could decide to embrace the chaotic and dangerous world that had been thrust upon her. She could face whatever came with her friends, her mutant family, the people she loved. And the more that Jean Grey thought about it, the more she realized that there was a very real chance that her seemingly clear choice wasn’t so much of one after all. She had a distinct sense that the life of mutants was likely to get more dangerous before it got better- the forces of hatred and reaction were only forming and organizing right now. If that was the case, then surely it was better to face that as part of a team than alone? 

 

Jean walked out onto the footbridge that spanned the small river and looked out at the clean blue water of the river. She couldn’t help but be reminded of a great many memories she’d already made on these grounds- she’d first come here as a young girl, to meet with Charles for therapy sessions. She remembered hearing a story about the famous Westchester Bobcat that she suspected that Charles had completely made up, but nonetheless, had inspired her to go hunting for it. It had been on this very footbridge, where she’d stopped for a moment, armed with a detailed map of the grounds and frustrated at her lack of success in finding the elusive feline, that she’d met Scott. 

 

She couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memory, of Scott being resolutely skeptical at first about the existence of the Westchester Bobcat, but being roped into a long and exhausting search for it. They’d never, of course, managed to actually find it. Bobcats were startlingly elusive animals and though there certainly could be one or, indeed, several on the huge grounds of the Xavier Institute, she always imagined it was Charles’s version of her father’s fish stories. 

 

“Nice day.” Jean turned when she heard a very familiar voice and then smiled as she saw Scott Summers standing next to her, holding two travel mugs. “I’ve got Earl Grey on the right, and Cafe a la Summers on the left. Your choice, of course.” He smiled slightly as Jean eagerly grabbed for the mug full of delicious namesake tea. Scott, of course, was welcome to the toxic sludge that he pretended was coffee. She leaned in to kiss him. 

 

“Beautiful day.” Jean replied with a soft smile. “How’re you?” 

 

Scott paused a moment before taking a sip of his black poison. “I don’t think Charles is going to be shutting down the school or anything. But probably some things are going to be changing. A lot more security. More training.” 

 

“I’m glad to hear that. And he should be too. It’d be pretty hard for him to kick me out at this point.” Jean crossed the small distance between her and Scott and rested her head on his shoulder. “You didn’t really answer the question, though.” She looked up at him, wishing for the billionth time that she could actually see his eyes instead of the red glasses he always had to wear- which she felt bad about, because she knew he couldn’t do anything about that. 

 

“I’m okay. A little anxious about what’s going to happen, I guess.” Scott sighed. “I’m worried about Dad too … he’s trying to help the guy who came in here. Which, you know, is pretty classic Charles Xavier. Apparently he’s not a terrible person once you get rid of the brainwashing.” Scott sounded a little less than convinced, though and Jean couldn’t blame him. 

 

“Your father is an idealist, but he’s also very smart. And capable of shutting down someone’s brain with a single thought.” Jean looked up at him. “I can’t say that I love the idea of someone sent to kill him sticking around even for a little while, but you said it. Classic Charles Xavier. Next thing he’ll be inviting that repulsive Senator Kelly for high tea and convincing him to stop backing odious legislation with the power of hugs.” 

 

“Jeaaaannn.” Jean couldn’t see him rolling his eyes, but she knew he was. She didn’t need telepathic powers or a special psychic bond to know that. 

 

“Scoooootttt.” Jean echoed back at him a little brattily, looking up at him with her best Sunday smile. 

 

“Careful. I know where you’re ticklish.” Scott grinned faintly and looped his free arm around her waist. “Seen the Famous Westchester Bobcat yet?” 

 

“Not yet. Can you believe that Charles won’t invest millions of dollars in building a miniaturized Cerebro exclusively for bobcats? I keep asking him for one for Christmas and all I get are books.” Jean let out an exaggerated sigh. “But maybe what I really need are another set of eyes. And let’s be real, yours are way better than mine, red tint or no. I’m seventeen and already have reading glasses.” 

 

“Is it awful for me to admit that I think they’re kinda sexy?” Scott looked at her a little shyly, as if he was actually worried that she’d be offended.  _ Good Lord, Scott, I love you to pieces, but you are a million kinds of repressed.  _ She knew he wasn’t entirely so, she’d certainly picked up on some interesting thoughts from him in the past, but there was no getting around the fact that was deeply shy. She suspected it had a lot to do with his powers, with the absolute need to keep himself in check, lest he drop his glasses and unleash red Armageddon. 

 

“I didn’t know you were into the sexy librarian look, Scott.” Jean replied with exaggerated innocence. As much as she understood why Scott was a little repressed, she found herself unable not to tease him about it- something that she chose to blame on Wanda, who had been doing it remorselessly since they were both children. Of course, the reality was that Wanda was in many ways even  _ more  _ repressed than Scott- her icy sarcasm and endless snark hid a very, very deeply wounded soul.

 

“Don’t tell Wanda.” Scott replied, “or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He laughed. “... then again, I’m pretty sure she hears just about everything from both of us. She’s probably got a huge book of potential blackmail.” 

 

Jean remained tight-lipped for a moment, not really knowing quite what to say in response. She knew- actually had Wanda admit to her that she was in love with Jean, and she knew that Scott and Wanda regarded each other as something very close to brother and sister. And Jean, for her part,  _ did  _ love Wanda, but she also loved Scott and she despised the way the world worked that actually made her  _ choose.  _ Jean also knew that Wanda had played a very significant part in getting Scott to open up about his feelings for her, to ask her out, to gently nudge Scott to relax a little bit and not fear being intimate so much. 

 

Jean admittedly was more than a little baffled that Wanda would spend so much time making sure that her and Scott were successful as a couple- Jean pretty much knew for certain she couldn’t do that in her position. It was partly, she thought, a genuine sense of selflessness, but also she suspected it was motivated by a deep sense of unworthiness. Jean knew that having Erik Lehnsherr for a father came with a gigantic price for one’s self-concept- it was one reason that she could never warm to the man, even before that horrid incident in the training program. It was almost impossible for the child of an egomaniac to come out totally intact, and it was, she thought, a remarkable testimony to Wanda’s strength of character that she hadn’t been annihilated, body and soul before the altar of Erik Lehnsherr. 

 

“Jean?” Scott asked and she realized that she’d gone quiet for a moment. “Everything okay?” 

 

Jean turned around a little so she could face him, and for good measure, decided to kiss him. One of the things she loved about them being together was how well they fit together- he was  _ just  _ taller enough, but it wasn’t remotely difficult for them to kiss or for him to hold her. She could pull him down just a little to kiss him, but there was never anything awkward about it. It made Jean wonder how well they fitted together in other ways, but with the combination of their hideous luck and Scott’s reluctance, she knew that would likely be some time away. 

 

“Yes, it is.” She looked up at him with a smile. “What do you say we go looking for the Westchester Bobcat again? For old times’ sake?” She grinned up at him. 

 

“Yeah sure, why not?” Scott smiled faintly and took her head, eagerly leading her along. “C’mon, we won’t be finding any bobcats on this bridge. It’ll be in the woods.” Jean found herself having to almost run to keep up with Scott as they headed into the woods. The great deciduous trees had already shed their leaves, so it didn’t look as lovely as it should have, but the sun was shining, and it’d been a long time since she’d seen Scott quite so relaxed. 

 

“So … we should be looking for tracks, right?” Jean had spent a few years of her life somewhat obsessed with locating the elusive Westchester Bobcat, so she actually had a pretty good idea of what bobcat tracks look like. 

 

“Tracks, definitely. It’s … probably not a great time of day, though, to be honest. I mean, let’s go looking, sure, but we should probably come back a bit later and check it out around dusk.” Scott looked around. “Also, then I’ve  _ really  _ got an advantage. I’ll totally spot it first.” Jean saw that as an excellent time to poke him in the ribs. 

 

“Quiet you. I’ll use my awesome telepathic powers to locate the bobcat mentally and tame it and then I’ll have a bobcat for a pet and I’ll get it to claw the shit out of all your stuff.” Jean countered with a broad grin. “It’ll just be me and my bobcat, we’ll be the best of friends. We’ll go to special parties where only people who have bobcats are allowed. You’ll be so jealous, Scott.” 

 

“... bobcat parties?” Scott shook his head and laughed. “Sure, because those actually exist. Tell you what, if you find any evidence that bobcat parties actually exist, I will buy you dinner. Anywhere you want.” 

 

“But I could get you to do that by batting my eyelashes. Where’s the fun in that?” Jean smirked broadly at him. “How about, if I see the bobcat before you do, you have to let me and Wanda give you a makeover.” 

 

“... and if I see the bobcat first?” Scott grinned. 

 

“You could give me a makeover.” Jean countered with an impish little smile. “So how would you dress me, if you could put me in anything you wanted? You could satisfy that sexy librarian fantasy you apparently have. Or maybe something else? Gosh, Mr. Summers, I almost  _ want  _ to lose now.” 

 

She looked up at Scott to see a very satisfying blush crossing his cheeks. “I guess I’d better find this bobcat first, then.” He finally managed to say, with a sly little grin starting to form on his face. “You and Wanda are just going to be disappointed.” He paused for a moment. “Well, Wanda, anyway. You might not mind so much.” 

 

They continued tramping through the woods together, but any signs of the elusive feline were eluding them. About twenty minutes or so into the search, Scott stopped at a big oak tree, smiling broadly at the initials “S.S and J.G” carved into them. He turned towards her with a huge grin on his face, something that Jean rarely saw and much of the outside world probably suspected he wasn’t actually capable of making. 

 

“How old is that?” Jean asked, trying to remember how many years it’d been since Scott had carved that into the tree- she remembered at the time she was mildly horrified because she was going through a bit of an environmentalist phase, but now it just made her heart swell. She wondered if maybe their younger selves knew things that they’d forgotten until very recently. 

 

“Five years, three months, eleven days.” Scott replied, bending over to look at it a little closer, running his hands over the lines carved into the old oak. “It was 2:45 in the afternoon and we were hunting for the bobcat.” He smiled and chuckled slightly. “Some things never change, I guess.” 

 

There were certainly times where Scott’s military precision wore a little on Jean, who deep down, had more than a little of her mother’s liberal-arts casualness in her makeup, but there were other times that she loved it. Jean knew that Scott would never forget their anniversary- and the thought of actually  _ having  _ anniversaries was a crazy but wonderful one for her. He’d certainly never needed reminding about her birthday, because she’d always hear back from Wanda that Scott had asked her to do reconnaissance for potential birthday purchases. 

 

Scott took a step back from it. “Needs a heart around it, though.” He took out a Swiss Army knife from the pocket of his coat and started carving slowly and deliberately around their names- because of  _ course  _ Scott had a Swiss Army knife on him at all times in case he needed to uncork something or there was a priceless romantic gesture that needed to be finished. She watched him work with quiet appreciation, but as soon as he was finished, she pushed him up against the tree and kissed him, long and deep. 

 

_ I love you, Scott Summers. And that’ll never change, no matter what crazy stuff life throws at us.  _

  
  
  
  



	23. Logan III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has a startlingly tense encounter with Erik. 
> 
> His tentative bromance with Charles appears to continue.

Logan awoke to a sudden jolt and to the hideous screeching sound of metal as his previously horizontal bed was yanked into a vertical position. He sniffed the air- he remembered that scent, it wasn’t Charley- it was someone  _ else  _ from his past. His eyes opened swiftly and claws extended on instinct, though he couldn’t do anything with them with his wrists bound by such strong restraints.  _ Whoever made these knew what they were doin’. I could bust through normal steel easily enough.  _

 

The man that walked into the room with him was tall, slender but clearly fit, with white hair but fairly young features and blue-grey eyes that captured attention. Logan figured him for being in the early part of middle age- somewhere in his forties, though there was something far older about his eyes. They widened slightly as they looked at Logan and Logan knew that whoever this man was, he recognized Logan. His lips drew into a frown. 

 

“Tell me, Logan, do you remember a young boy named Max Eisenhardt?” His accent sounded German, but flavoured with broad experience of Central and Eastern Europe. 

 

_ Max Eisenhardt. Name does sound familiar.  _ The name made him remember the acrid smell of burning bodies, but even more than that, the scent of metal. Metal warping and crunching around him, just like it had done just now. He remembered a young man in his teens with silver hair. But that was the Second World War. If Max Eisenhardt was alive, he’d be a man in his late eighties, even his nineties by now. And yet, no, it wasn’t that the man in front of him was a son of that man- it was that boy. And Logan knew that he himself had lived a long time, didn’t know exactly how long though, so perhaps it was something about mutants.

 

“You’re lookin’ pretty good for a man yer age.” Logan finally said with a faint smirk. “Didn’t figure ya for education, though. I’m guessin’ you weren’t expecting me here.” 

 

“I wasn’t.” Max replied. “... I do not go by that name anymore. I’m known as Erik Lehnsherr. The girl who nearly immured you in the dirty out there is my daughter.” He took a breath. “Charles tells me your memory was damaged by whatever techniques they used to brainwash you.” 

 

“Yeah, he told me that too.” Logan’s claws went back into his wrists. “Did other things to me too.” 

 

“I can see that. Adamantium.” His eyes flashed and though his mouth remained impassive, Logan could clearly see rage behind the man’s gaze. “I did not invent adamantium to be used as a weapon against our race.” 

 

“... our race, huh? Didn’t know mutants were a race.” Logan raised an eyebrow and grinned, showing sharp teeth. “Surprised to hear you of all people talkin’ about  _ race. _ ” 

 

“Species. People. Choose a different descriptor if that one doesn’t please you. Surely you of all people realize what insane lengths our enemies will go to.” Max, who preferred to be called Erik these days, sighed softly for a moment and then his countenance hardened again and there was something downright  _ Prussian  _ about the man’s utterly straight posture and commanding gaze. Logan decided to keep that bit to himself, though. He suspected that Erik wouldn’t like being told that. 

 

“Figure you can’t be talkin’ about a mutant people until you’ve got somethin’ for them to agree with besides being weird.” Logan would have shrugged but his restraints didn’t allow that. “Charley know you’ve come down for a talk with me? I gotta say, he’s a much gentler-seemin’ sort.” 

 

“An idealist. A good man, but one who does not understand the situation that is unfolding. A man who believes in the essential goodness of humanity.” Erik took a breath. “I would imagine that you, of all people would realize that there is no such thing.” 

 

“I dunno about that, Max.” Logan replied with a fangy smirk on his face. “I know that I tried to kill a guy and he’s helping me with all the bad shit in my head. By rights, he shoulda killed me. And sure, I’m kinda his prisoner while we sort that out, but I can tell he’s pretty broken up about it. I also know that a rich guy like him sure doesn’t have to spend all that time and money buildin’ a place where mutants can be themselves. I know that he’s haunted by the fact that it’s a harsh world out there.

 

But hey, we’re old war buddies, right? How about we just drop the BS and call it as you see it. You think he’s a damn fool. You think there’s a war comin’.” Logan leaned in a little closer, though his restraints didn’t let him come much closer. “And you’re lookin’ to sign me up.” 

 

Erik laughed but Logan could tell that it was hollow as shit- this was a man who didn’t like being called on his proclamations, he liked to lead people on, liked to spoonfeed people his worldview a bit at a time, liked to be regarded as a universal genius. Egomania didn’t have a smell, not really, but if it did, this man would be bathing in it every day. It wasn’t that the man didn’t have a point, because Logan thought he did- and that he might even be right, but that he didn’t sign up to follow charismatic egomaniacs. As he recalled, actually, he killed quite a number of men trying to take a charismatic egomaniac down. 

 

“I can see that you enjoy being contrarian.” Erik replied with a very false smile. “But yes, I suppose if you must put it in such vulgar terms, I would like you to ‘sign up’.” 

 

“Better be careful that Charley doesn’t start readin’ those thoughts.” Logan gave Erik his best complete shit-eating grin. “He might not like the thought of you playin’ recruiter with his kids.” 

 

“Oh don’t worry about Charles reading my thoughts.” Erik replied with an enigmatic smile of his own. “Just as you have your means of making it difficult for telepaths to interfere with your mind- I have mine. He’s not going to be reading anyone’s mind. And as for telling him, well, I suppose I can’t stop you. But you’ll have to consider- would he truly believe anything you have to say? And also, do you really want to enable his delusions, Logan? Perhaps you have no love for me. I don’t ask for your love. I ask you to do what is best for your species, your people.” 

 

“You must really rehearse that shit all day long.” Logan laughed, as loud and long as he could, until he was nearly out of breath. Then he looked Erik in the eye. “I’ll tell you what I think of your so-called offer.” He hocked up as much phlegm as he possibly could and spat it on the floor, where it made a satisfyingly revolting  _ plop.  _ “Fuck your war, bub.” 

 

Erik’s eyes briefly drifted towards the glob on the floor and then back towards Logan balefully. Logan had to admit, he had a pretty good glower, but it would take more than a staring-at to intimidate him. In fact, there was nothing that this man could do to him that would scare him. Sure, he might be able to use those magnetic powers to rip him to shreds, but he wasn’t going to. He was still relying on Charles’s good graces, still planning to parasitise him for recruits, for resources, until he was ready to declare war. 

 

“Whether you admit it or not, Logan, the war is coming. I can only hope that time will make you see sense before it is too late.” Erik made a gesture with his hands and his bed returned to normal. “Do consider your options, Logan. You know they’ll be coming for you again.” 

 

“One more thing, Max.” Logan angled his head up a little bit so he could look at the man as squarely as possible. “You’re Charles’s friend, right?” 

 

“His best and oldest friend, not that it matters a whit to you.” Erik replied, raising an eyebrow faintly. “What of it?” 

 

“Don’t ya think that tryin’ to kill a man’s dream is as bad as killin’ the man himself? How about you think real hard and real long about it. Come back to me with an answer if ya have one.” Logan smiled almost sweetly, though the fanged teeth would have given anything but a sweet impression. Erik gave him a satisfying scowl as he exited the room. 

 

When he left, Logan lay back down, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling light above him. He really and truly hated giving Erik anything, but the man did have a point. Things were going to get worse for mutants- if they would do that to him, they would do it to other people, maybe the kids at the school, maybe people they took off the street. There might indeed be a war coming- maybe it was even likely. 

 

Logan hoped that Charles understood, really understood that the high road was a difficult one to take. He hoped the man had the cunning to navigate difficult waters- because idealism wasn’t going to be enough.  _ What’s the matter with me? I’m sounding like I give a shit. This isn’t my fight, I never signed up with anyone.  _ And yet, the thought stuck in his head. 

 

His memories were a mess, assorted images, names, places from what seemed like a dozen lives- he remembered the smell of gunpowder and smoke at Chattanooga, he remembered being gassed at Passchendaele, he remembered watching a man get blown to smithereens five feet away from him in Normandy. There was a lot of war in his memories, the American Civil War, assorted conflicts in Europe and North America, World War I, World War II, a long line of wetworks that led to a part of his life he had no memory of. 

 

Logan remembered nothing of what had happened to him to give him his adamantium skeleton, of his condition, of anything before being ordered to kill Charles Xavier. He knew that the procedure had to have been insanely painful, but he couldn’t recall anything of it, though sometimes he had a vague memory of cold water and hot metal, of droplets of red in a pool of blue, of fireworks in his brain and crushing agony in his heart. It only seemed logical that they were all connected together, but he couldn’t be sure. 

 

Something that he sort of regretted was that he seemed to remember mostly the uglier parts of his life, the war, the killing, the traumas he’d undergone.  _ It’d be nice to remember something else, but maybe my life really was mostly fightin’ and killin’. Seems like it’d suit. I shouldn’t be getting sentimental about it anyway, there’s no use.  _ He was really starting to resent that Erik had woken him up from whatever stasis state that Charley had put him in, because two things were bothering him right now. 

 

One was that he was increasingly feeling caged- he understood and accepted Charley’s reasoning, but he hated being restrained, hated being kept inside. He wanted to smell fresh air, to go swim in a cold lake, to hunt fresh meat and cook it on a campfire. He was as much animal as man, and while many people might consider that something shameful to hide, he considered it a sign of pride. 

 

The other thing, bluntly, was that he  _ really  _ needed to take a piss, and half-animal or not, he didn’t really want to go right here on the table. It’d make an ungodly mess and then he’d have to smell it for however long until someone came into the room. 

 

Which made it a very, very long half-hour or so before Charles came in again, his eyes settling on the obviously deformed frame of the bed and making a vague sound of displeasure and a little sigh. He pushed himself in his wheelchair closer to Logan, so they could meet as close to eye to eye as Charles’s disability and Logan’s being strapped to a gigantic table allowed. 

 

“I understand you’ve met Erik.” Charles spoke slowly and deliberately. “He did not seem to be overly impressed by the meeting. Or forthcoming with the details. I was hoping that, perhaps, with your obvious blunt honesty, that you would tell me.” Charles steeped his fingers in front of his face and paused to allow Logan to speak. He didn’t precisely look pleased, but neither did he look like he was going to dismiss entirely what Logan was going to say. 

 

“He’s got a pretty dim opinion of what yer doin’ here. He wanted me to sign up for, well, I’m not sure exactly what he has in mind, but he’s clearly thinkin’ a war’s coming.” Logan wished that he could sit up or something, because it seemed somehow pathetic to be delivering an important message while strapped down to a table. 

 

However, Charley needed to hear this and take it to heart. Logan couldn’t help it, he rather liked the guy. An idealistic fool? Maybe, but Logan was finding that he had a weird fondness for idealistic fools. He’d take an idealistic fool any day over a charismatic egomaniac. And maybe that was the real choice, maybe it was less about what they were saying and more about who they  _ were.  _ Charley would always try as hard as he could to be the best man he could. Erik, as he was calling himself nowadays, would probably sink to any low to achieve what he thought was right. 

 

“Charley, Erik’s not a good friend for ya. He’s just usin’ you for whatever he can and then he’s gone to start the war, if it doesn’t start already. If I were you, I’da tossed him to the curb a long time ago.” Logan laughed for a moment. “Daughter seems nice, though. Seems pretty devoted to this place.” 

 

Charley took a deep breath, pausing for a moment. Unlike Erik, he didn’t have cute little speeches preprepared all the time- Charley didn’t talk in slogans and catchphrases. Then the face of contemplation seemed to fade away into a real abiding sadness. “I know. I know he doesn’t believe that mutants and humans can ever live together in peace. I know that he’s gathering people away from the school. But what can I do? Cast him out? And what then? He is cut off from any restraining influence. I won’t be able to keep an eye on him. And his children. Logan, I know you don’t know the people here. I do not expect you to care, but Wanda and Pietro are like family to me. If I cast Erik out, I will probably lose them.” 

 

Charles sighed sadly. “I know that I probably can’t influence Erik. And perhaps it would be wiser for me to renounce him, but I can’t. He’s my friend and I love him and I have to try to make him see. I have to try and make him see that this war he thinks is inevitable, that the only inevitability of it is the shared destruction of all. Am I a fool to feel this way? I suppose I am, but I won’t abandon him. He’ll have to abandon me.” 

 

“Aw, it’s okay, Charley.” Logan sighed a little himself. “I kinda like foolish idealists.” 

 

“Logan? Are you actually certain you want to leave?” Charles asked, his eyebrow lifted slightly. “Of course, you will be free to go- quite soon, but if you want, you could stay here.” 

 

“Tell ya what. You let me take a damn piss and I’ll think about it. I don’t make any promises though.” Logan showed a fangy grin. 


	24. Rogue II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue has two mommies. They both love her very much. 
> 
> Raven is sensitive about Jewish jokes. 
> 
> Rogue needs a hug. Sadly her powers all but prevent that from happening.

Rogue hardly ever made much of an effort to look good- she liked her gigantic baggy hoodies and sweatpants, which did a good enough job of hiding her from the world. Momma was always trying to get Rogue to try out new looks, but the fact of that matter is that Rogue didn’t want to look good. Looking good meant that people were likely to want to touch you, and she didn’t want people to touch her- couldn’t have people touch her. 

 

Besides, who would she even want to kiss in this house? People probably figured she had a thing going with Morty, but really, they were friends- he didn’t really set her heart aflutter. He was sweet and she really did care about him, but he was not her type, and neither really, were the other guys in the House. As for Tabby, girls weren’t her thing and even if she was straight-up lesbian, she wouldn’t want to be a notch on Tabby’s belt. Not that she thought that Tabby was into girls either. Of course, none of it really mattered. She couldn’t touch  _ anyone.  _

 

But today was a little different, because Mom was coming and she knew that Mom liked to see her dress up a little, which meant that she found herself in a pretty green dress, though she wore black leggings underneath it. She slipped on long gloves and actually put in some matching earrings- at least her ears had been pierced before her powers had manifested. If she wanted a navel ring or a nose stud, she’d basically have to do it herself, which basically meant ‘never’. 

 

All in all, it was something close to what Mom would call her ‘Sunday best’, though none of them had ever been church-goers. Rogue had once upon a time tried to go to a few services almost as a rebellion against Momma in particular, who despised religion, but she’d found it boring. Besides, she couldn’t really get into believing crazy things like people coming back to life after death. The actual breaking point had come when people at the youth group had found out that Rogue lived with two Moms. The worst thing was that they felt  _ bad  _ for her, like she was victimized somehow. 

 

After putting on a little makeup, Rogue headed downstairs- wrinkling her nose slightly at the telltale skunk stink of weed from John’s room, poorly disguised by cheap incense and rolling her eyes at the sock on Tabby’s room- though in all fairness, she could have simply forgotten to remove it from when she had Erik’s kid in there. The downstairs, though, was nice and clean- probably Fred’s doing, because she knew that secretly, Fred hated filth and as a good southern boy, Fred Dukes would have been horrified to have Rogue’s Mom over without at least the downstairs looking clean. 

 

They were in the living room, with Momma sprawled over the biggest of the easychairs. Rogue noticed that she hadn’t particularly bothered to dress up- Momma could put on a front of sophistication as well as anyone she knew, but deep down, Rogue knew she was a bit of a slob. At least the black leather pants and dark red tank looked tolerably neat. And she knew for a fact that Mom hated the way that Momma would just sprawl over things, legs all askew like the worst of boys. 

 

Mom was an almost perfect contrast, sitting primly on the couch- dressed conservatively but immaculately, a soft and warm smile on her face that seemed to light up when Rogue walked into the room. Her cane was propped neatly at her side and she gestured for Rogue to sit next to her, which Rogue did, carefully giving her Mom a little bit of a hug. 

 

“I’ve missed you terribly, Marie. You look wonderful.” 

 

It was a truly strange thing, because of course, Mom was completely and totally blind, but she seemed to have an uncanny perception for when people were making an effort to look nice and when they weren’t. A long time ago, she knew that Mom had been something of a socialite and that she loved pretty clothes of all sorts. Rogue figured that she connected it to confidence- the fact was that she didn’t overly mind making a little more effort for her sake. 

 

Then again, perhaps she  _ could  _ see something in her visions, or saw something before and knew what Rogue was going to wear. It was always hard to know with Mom, even though she didn’t particularly cultivate an air of mystery, it clung to her anyway, like perfume. It was something that her and Momma had in common, though Momma’s secrets were mostly of a bloodier kind. 

 

“Thanks, Mom.” Rogue smiled at her, knowing that even though she was blind, she’d see it anyway. “Are you gonna be staying for supper? I’m sure we could get some of the boys to make something nice.” 

 

“I’d love that, Marie.” Almost alone of all people in the world, Mom refused to call her ‘Rogue’. Rogue wouldn’t tolerate just about anyone else calling her by a birth name she had never really identified with, but she didn’t mind it when Mom did. She knew that Mom was worried about her being affiliated with the other people at the house, getting involved in what she was sure was going to be very dangerous work that Momma had ahead of her. 

 

Momma shifted slightly in her seat to sit up a little straighter, something she only did when she had serious business to consider. “We have been discussing whether it’s really the best thing for you to be staying here, or whether you’d rather go back to Mississippi with Irene.” 

 

“That kinda sounds like you’re giving me the choice.” Rogue wasn’t really all that used to being given a choice in matters- though it was sort of ridiculous that she hadn’t, because she was fifteen and it wouldn’t be long before she was an adult. Besides, it’s not like she was going to get teen pregnant or anything- and she’d never had anything other than distaste for drugs. 

 

“You’re old enough now that you can decide where you want to be.” Mom replied softly, “even if I’d love to simply swoop up with you and go back South. I’ve never really liked New York. It’s just a taller and trashier London, you know. But Raven tells me you like it here, that you’ve been making some new friends.” 

 

“I have made some friends here, and truth be told, I kinda like the big city- even if I really miss you, Mom. I wish you’d just come up here and stay.” Rogue sighed a little sadly- that is what she wanted, deep down. There were things she missed about Mississippi, of course, decent sweet tea, long sits on the porch, being able to just jump into any big enough patch of water and swim to your heart’s content. But it’d been lonely, and as much as she liked to pick on the people in the House, at least she knew there  _ were  _ mutants her age. “I think I’d like to stay here.” 

 

“Of course you would.” Mom replied softly, though Rogue knew she was disappointed with the answer, not particularly with her. Rogue wondered, though, if she’d already known, if she’d always known. “It’s a lot more exciting up here, I suppose. And likely to only get more exciting. It’s enough to make your old mother fret herself into an early grave.” 

 

“Irene.” Momma piped up, firmly. “Rogue’s tough as nails. She’ll be fine. Besides, she’s with me. Anyone even looks at her the wrong way and I’ll put .50 cal slugs up their asses.” 

 

“Yes.” Mom’s face scrunched up a little. Rogue knew that she was not exactly in love with guns, most particularly with the nearly full-sized armory that Momma had in the basement. Rogue herself actually thought the basement armory was kind of awesome, though she had no idea what most of those guns were- and could only fire a few of them in the range without the recoil half knocking her on her ass. “Of course, you can take care of yourself quite well.” 

 

“... but you’ll be here for a little while, right? I mean, it’s an awful long way to come up from Mississippi to New York and not be staying at least a weekend or a week, right?” Rogue actually had no idea how long she’d be there, but she hoped that it would be for awhile. 

 

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough for your Momma to get well sick of me.” Mom replied with that enigmatic little smile that she had long since mastered. “She’s going to be introducing me to her new friend. Dr. Erik Lehnsherr.” There was a faintly bitter edge to that- but only a little. Rogue knew that Momma and Mom weren’t really together like other people’s moms were, theirs was a complicated relationship that went a long way before Rogue was even born. 

 

“I would never get sick of you, Irene.” Momma countered and Rogue sounded she swore just the tiniest bit hurt. She almost never saw her Momma at all emotionally vulnerable, and Mom was one of the few people that could get past all of her defences. Rogue herself had once or twice- she wondered if Erik had or not. “And yes, Erik wants to meet you very much.” 

 

“Raven, it was a joke.” Mom smiled softly. “I know that you wouldn’t ever dream of wanting me gone.” It was a statement that would be sarcastic with so many other people, but Rogue knew that Mom meant it honestly. “I am rather curious to meet him too, you seem quite taken with him. What do you think of Erik, Rogue?” Mom tilted her face towards where Rogue was, though she knew it made no particular difference. 

 

“... he seems all right. He’s really into mutant rights. Doesn’t seem too optimistic about political stuff, though.” Rogue shrugged, kind of hating being put into the centre of the conversation again. She liked hanging back, watching her moms discuss and bicker and make up and make plans together. It was always Rogue’s instinct to hang around in the background, remain quiet, see what people decided for her and react appropriately. 

 

“Mutant rights? And here I thought he was a scientist.” Mom replied with a hint of amusement. “Are you quite certain you’re not British, dear? Because that’s really quite an excellent bit of understatement. Why, he doesn’t seem like someone who’s liable to drag us into an unwinnable race war at all. More like someone who might send Congress a concerned-sounded letter.” 

 

“Irene.” Momma cut in, clearly annoyed. “You said you weren’t going to be doing this, least of all in front of Rogue.” 

 

Mom looked back towards Momma. “You’re right. Rogue, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making light of something that is very serious. I know all about Dr. Lehnsherr’s plans and I can’t say that I’m terribly fond of them.” 

 

“That’s what people do when a war is coming. They plan. Strategy and tactics. No one’s making you do anything, Irene.” Momma then sighed and went over to the other side of the couch, next to where Mom was. “It’s going to be all right, Irene. I’m going to take care of Rogue. Nobody’s going to hurt her. Nobody.” 

 

Mom nodded quietly. “Of course.” She looked over at Rogue. “Promise you’ll visit soon, though. For Christmas, if not before?” 

 

“Of course, Mom.” Rogue smiled at her. “We’ll both come over for Christmas.” She grinned broadly, knowing she’d just cut Momma into that as well and not really giving a damn whether Momma had other plans or not. They were a family and families needed to spend Christmases together. They were in the rules. 

 

“I’d invite Erik and his children too, but I’m afraid they’re not much for Christmases.” Mom smirked slightly, knowing full well that nobody had told her that the Lehnsherrs were Jewish, though Rogue figured she could have also just read it in a magazine. Erik Lehnsherr was pretty well-known for what he did- among other things, he invented a whole new kind of metal that was supposedly completely indestructible. 

 

Rogue couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No, they’re not really.” 

 

“Make sure that Fred doesn’t put ham hocks into the vegetables at dinner when they come then.” Mom’s smirk turned into a smile. “Speaking of Fred, I will have to tell him what a lovely job he did with this room when he came back. Heaven knows it can get terribly messy with so many young people about.” Which was Mom’s polite way of saying that she thought that they were a bunch of slobs. Rogue herself wasn’t  _ too  _ bad, but Momma was awful and the kids were even worse. 

 

“We can stop joking about Erik being Jewish any time.” Momma snapped, a little unexpectedly, though she sighed and crossed her arms. “Sorry.” She looked away, seemingly glaring at the wall, as if she didn’t approve of the colour it was painted. 

 

“Raven.” Mom reached out to her and Rogue knew that a nerve had been hit, something real and painful. It was a strange thing to watch Mom gently reach out and touch Momma, to see Momma relax at the touch. It was something beautiful but also sort of painful for her to see, because  _ touch,  _ here was evidence that touch was such a powerful thing. 

 

It was the inability to be able to do that safely that really, really ate at Rogue, far more than the notion of not being able to have sex or anything like that, because frankly, she didn’t feel ready for that anyway. But it would really be quite nice to be able to hug someone safely, to get or even give a backrub or shake someone’s hand. She wanted terribly, even palpably to hug Momma right now, and Mom just as much, but she couldn’t quite do those things, not spontaneously, not without being incredibly careful, not without risk. 

 

_ Everyone’s talking about mutant rights, but me, if I could just … stop being one. God help me, I think I would. I never asked for this.  _

 

“... are you okay, Momma? We were just joking.” Rogue didn’t even really think they were making very bad jokes, but something seemed to have triggered her and Rogue wasn’t quite sure what, though she could make a few guesses, based on what she knew her Momma had been up to a long time ago. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay.” Momma laughed a little embarrassedly. “I’m being ridiculous.” 

 

“No you aren’t.” Mom emphasized. “Not ridiculous at all.” 

 

“Maybe I could get us some tea.” Rogue piped up, feeling like the two of them maybe needed a moment together. 

 

“I’d love that, thank you.” Mom smiled warmly at her. 

 

“No tea for me, but if you’d get me some scotch, Momma would love a double of that right about now.” Momma grinned at her. “You girls can have your tea, of course.” 

 

Rogue couldn’t see Mom rolling her eyes behind her glasses, but she was certain that she was. Some things never changed, no matter how much in the world seemed crazy and eternally in uproar. Momma would never show any class when she didn’t absolutely have to, and Mom would never cease to be amused and annoyed by that at the same time. 


	25. The Purifier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reverend William Stryker gathers the Purifiers to ritually take first blood. 
> 
> One of his soldiers is very eager to do it. 
> 
> This is a chapter in which the content warning about violence applies.

“The Lord made humans in his image, man and woman. He gave them dominion over this world in exchange for following his divine laws. We know what men and women are supposed to look like, what they’re supposed to be able to do. What is natural. What is right. What is a part of God’s plan. 

 

Mutants are not a part of God’s plan.” 

 

The Reverend took the heavy cloth off of the shaking, bound and bagged creatures inside and Will shuddered at their horrifying forms- one of them was scaled like a lizard, the other’s skin mottled in a revolting mass of colours that constantly seemed to shift and change. The crowd gasped but then shouted their righteous anger at the two mutants, the two genejokes, the living blasphemies before them. 

 

Seeing the mutant freaks up front, both filled Will with rage, because who could ever claim that these were natural, that they were human, but also with deep gratitude that God had spared his family from such a plague. Of course, he would have done his duty had he given birth to such a monster- against such a diabolic evil, even the Lord’s strictures against abortion no longer applied- but he was glad he didn’t have to. 

 

“Satan knows that his time is short and that the righteous anger of God will sweep him and his followers up like grain in a great harvester. In his desperation, in his sheer hatred towards humanity, he reaches into the wombs of human women and twists and corrupts the unborn within. Their souls are bound to evil, their bodies bearing the marks of their vile creator. They are given evil powers, some from the very womb, others have their vile bargains come to fruition as they grow older. 

 

Make no mistake, many mutants can walk amongst us, look like us, act like us. To all appearances, they seem human. We must be ever-vigilant. Godly men of industry and science know this and the Lord has given them insight to build machines that can detect the presence of the satanic X-factor inside people. We must pray that this holy work is done as quickly as possible. In the meantime, we do what we can, to purify our neighbourhoods, our cities, our country, our world.” 

 

The Reverend undid the gags around their mouths, so that they could speak. Will’s lips curled as the creatures started bleating like sheep, begging for their lives, offering money, whatever, anything to save their lives. Will knew that their begging would come to nothing, that it meant nothing. That their lives were worthless and their souls hopelessly corrupt. It was a strange thing to hear them beg in the voices of human beings. It was as if bacteria could plead for their lives against an antibiotic. 

 

“It’s important that you be able to hear their begging, their pleading and to harden your heart to it. The Devil sometimes blusters as a mighty king, other times he prefers to play the lamb. Make no mistake, the blasphemies you will be hunting will beg for their lives, they will plead. God has made our hearts soft to such things, so that we would help a neighbour or even a strange child. But to give in to even understandable feelings of pity is as good as damning our race to oblivion. We must reject the works of Satan and do so emphatically.” 

 

Will nodded as he continued to listen to the Reverend’s homily, heard the man speak the plain language of the Bible and of the people. He felt the shotgun in his hand, sleek and powerful, the weight of bulletproof armour on his body and he imagined himself as a crusading knight, except the Holy Land that he would take would not be a few acres of dust in Palestine, but the streets of New York City, the greatest metropolis in all America. 

 

Indeed, theirs was a greater Crusade than those of a thousand years ago- those men had fought for the Cross, but they had fought and killed men, misguided and damned men, but still human beings made in God’s image. Will had no particular love for the Islamic faith in his heart, but he knew that they were human beings and human beings deserved consideration. It was God’s duty to judge souls, not man’s. But this was a different phenomenon altogether. 

 

They were not fighting humans, they were fighting the living manifestations of Satan’s rage and desperation. Every dead mutant was a small victory for the forces of righteousness and brought Armageddon and the final reckoning of the world just a little closer. 

 

He remembered when the Reverend had first found him a few years ago- Will had been a different man then, a drug-addicted wretch who resorted to petty criminality to supply himself with the heroin that he thought he’d needed. He’d tried to rob one of the Reverend’s people- and then Stryker had come out himself to calm the man down and bring him inside. He’d got a hot cup of coffee, some sandwiches and wise counsel that day. 

 

For a time, Will had resisted the calling of Jesus to him, had resisted His saving grace, but the power of Christ was such that even the hardest heart had to yield. Will remembered the cold, stormy night that he’d thrown away all of his needles and accepted Jesus into his life. He remembered barely managing to phone the Reverend, how the man had put him through detox and rehab programs on his own dime. Because he was a man of God, because he thought that Will was worth saving. 

 

When he’d come clear out of it- when with a strength far, far beyond his own, he had managed to beat the devil of drugs, he’d gone to Stryker’s church and pledged himself to the crusade, to the service of God in any way that he could. It was then that Stryker had taken him aside, man to man, and spoken to him about the scourge of mutation. Stryker told him that more than anything, they needed to destroy the mutant menace, to erase it from society.

 

Stryker had told him that Will himself would play an important role in that. Once upon a time, before he’d become a drug addict, Will was a soldier and a good one- he’d done special ops work in Afghanistan and Iraq. Stryker himself was a soldier before he became a preacher- he told Will that Jesus needed his combat skills, that he was being called to be a soldier for a greater cause than anything.

 

Once upon a time, he’d been a soldier for America, and been proud of it. Now he was a soldier for Jesus Christ, one of the first Purifiers. 

 

“Tonight, I am going to ask you all to witness a great and holy sacrament. Here, we have two unholy blasphemies, evil creatures-” 

 

“We’re not evil! Please … we’re just people who look different …” The multicoloured genejoke pleaded. “Don’t hurt us, please, we’ll leave town …” 

 

Stryker paused for a moment and let them continue bleating for a moment. “You’re all probably wondering why I don’t gag them. Surely it would be easier if I did so. I assure you, I’m as annoyed by their bleating as you are. But it’s important that you hear the sound of begging. It’s important that you know that Satan will use every trick in his book to get you to abdicate your duty to the human race, and to God. 

 

These mutants will beg, they will cry, they will curse you, they will try to bribe you- these are all things that will happen.” Stryker paused for a moment. “Some mutants will try other methods. They will try to get inside your minds and twist your thoughts. Yes, there are mutants with the power of telepathy. The best armour against such hideous attacks is absolute conviction and unwavering faith. If there is no doubt for these fiends to work with, all their power is for naught. 

 

We know that Satan is powerful in the world because the world is under his control. But we Christians are not of the world and so he has no power over us that we do not give him. I cannot emphasize this enough. 

 

It isn’t just mutants themselves that will beg, bribe or threaten you. There are humans out there that will defend mutants, publicly and privately. Some of these men we know by name. Perhaps one of the greatest of these satanic enablers is Charles Xavier-” 

 

Stryker paused for a moment to allow the assembled crowd an opportunity to shout their godly hatred towards the name of the arch-heretic, the man who had more than anyone else, consistently and publicly defended mutation as a natural phenomenon and mutants themselves as human beings, deserving of acceptance and kindness. Will himself remained quiet- though he couldn’t help but imagining having Xavier in the sights of a sniper rifle. It would be a glorious thing to splatter that man’s brains over the pavement and he could only pray that one day it was his gun that put an end to the fiend in human skin. 

 

“There are others, though. Some of these people are good Christians like you or I that do not understand the dimensions of the threat they face. We live in an age of skepticism and doubt in which many cannot see the plainest miracles or curses for what they are. It will be the mission of many hundreds of godly preachers and godly men in industry, in science, in politics to open the eyes of the doubting Thomases to the plain truth. It is one that we take glady in service to Jesus Christ. 

 

It is not, however, your mission, it is not your calling. Yours is a tremendous calling. It is your mission, your holy calling to sweep over the Earth like a righteous storm and cut down the wicked where they stand, where they fly and crawl and swim. Yours is a ministry of divine warfare. And make no mistake, this is a ministry. One that will reshape the world and bring us closer to God, to the perfect world to come. 

This, I sincerely believe, is the war to end all wars. We will purify the world, one street, one neighbourhood, one city, at a time.” 

 

The Reverend looked around at the crowd for a moment, savoring their enraptured silence. Reverend Stryker, who coincidentally, shared a Christian name with Will, was a tall man of average build. Though well over sixty, he stood proud and erect and clearly did as best he could to remain in shape. He was not flashy or ostentatious, but when he spoke, it was like listening to a thunderstorm, deep and powerful rumbles, pregnant silences and sudden flashes of what must have been direct divine inspiration. 

 

Certainly, Will had never met a man who seemed so directly and powerfully animated by the Holy Spirit. Even the most casual of actions had purpose to them, seemed to be fueled by a direct and driving need to be doing God’s work on Earth. There was nothing that William Stryker did that wasn’t driven by the needs of the crusade. The man only slept because he knew that his was a fallible human body and that rest would make him the stronger for another day. Will had never met a man who was even remotely as godly and it was a great privilege to serve such a man, to walk the path of Christ together with him.

 

“I have a question. Which among you would like to be the first Purifier to send a mutant howling down to Hell where they belong?” Stryker was not normally given to smiles, but a small smile couldn’t help but play at his lips. Will knew that every hand in the room would go up, that the whole thing was set up to inculcate and strengthen the faith of the Purifiers present. Will also knew that, practically speaking, it was important that Stryker not personally actually execute anyone- he was a public figure, after all.

 

There was no shortage of enthusiastic hands going up. For his part, Will volunteered his hand a little slower than the others, not because he was hesitant, but because he believed that such a holy duty needed to be done prayerfully. It was understandable enough that the younger men found honest joy in this world, but Will was a little too old to be precisely excited about that. All the same, he couldn’t help but hope that he was selected. 

 

_ Perhaps it’s the power in Christ in me that makes me like a child in His grace.  _

 

The Reverend’s eyes scanned through the assembled Purifiers, making little gestures, as if he was genuinely unsure about whom to pick. Will knew better than that, knew that Stryker had made up his mind before asking, quite likely before they’d even been assembled. He knew that it was part of a preacher’s work, part of their calling to use the tricks of public speaking- some would have considered it a little dishonest, but Will thought it was simply smart. 

 

It was Stryker’s job to motivate and energize his flock, just like any preacher and if a few little huckster’s gambits got the job done, it was all for the greater good of God. 

 

Then the Reverend’s eyes settled on Will and his heart leapt in his chest and he forgot all about admiring the Reverend’s technique and all he wanted in the world was the chance to put some lead into the brains of those loathsome genejokes. If God Himself came down from Heaven and told Will that killing those mutants would be the last thing he would do on Earth, he would accept with joy in his heart and take his chances with St. Peter. 

 

“William Armstrong. You were among the first that I chose for this sacred duty. Come up, son. You’ve more than earned this honour.” 

 

Will managed to maintain his dignity, managed to keep steady as he ascended to the stage where the Reverend Stryker was standing. He wouldn’t have minded using his shotgun, but he figured the task needed a little more precision. He drew his sidearm. The mutants started begging, crying, screaming again. He didn’t pay them any mind, though he wished they’d stop moving. It would make it a little more difficult to get a clean shot. 

 

Still, though, he was able to put his gun to the back of the scaled female’s head. 

 

“Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be His name. Thy kingdom come, thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” 

 

Will fired and the slug tore through the lizard woman’s head, spraying blood and brains on the stage. The multicoloured abomination screamed piteously and started struggling, whether to free himself or attack Will, he didn’t know.  What he did know was that the reptilian abomination was dead- he hadn’t missed and it was a powerful slug. He felt a little sorry for whoever would have to clean up the scene. 

 

He placed his gun at the same spot on the other mutant’s neck, pressing the nuzzle of the gun hard against his head. 

 

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the power, the Kingdom, and the glory. For ever and ever, Amen.” 

 

Will pulled the trigger again and a baptism of blood and brains and bits of skull splattered over the stage. As the ruined head of the male mutant slumped down, the crowd erupted into wild cheers. Will set the gun down, well pleased with his work and hopeful that he’d be able to repeat it many times over. 


	26. Wanda II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda Lehnsherr. 
> 
> Pleasantly crispy on the outside and a squishy catastrophic emotional mess on the inside. 
> 
> Wanda and Jean have a wide-ranging talk. Feels are had. 
> 
> No real warnings here, but a whole lotta emotional drama. Bunches of it.

_ Wanda?  _

 

Wanda closed her eyes when she heard Jean’s soft voice inside her mind. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her hand resting gently on Wanda’s shoulder, those big green eyes full of concern for her best friend. Her nerves shivered a little bit imagining even that little touch, but Wanda knew what Jean was going to say, what she wanted- what she thought was best for Wanda. 

 

Jean was probably right, but that wasn’t the point. 

 

_ I know what you’re going to say, Jean. And no. I don’t want to put down the computer and put some fucking scripted show on the television. I don’t want to forget them. I want to be able to see their faces every time I close my eyes.  _

 

_ They are killing people, Jean. They found innocent people on the street and murdered them.  _

 

Wanda could hear the sigh inside her mind, it was plainly worried and perhaps also a little exasperated. Wanda hated making Jean worry, hated being a complication in Jean’s life- something she had worried about more and more as of late. It was probably her fault to a great extent- it had been Wanda who had so obviously and publicly pushed Scott to ask Jean out in the first place, because she wanted Scott to be happy, because she knew that Jean at the very  _ least  _ preferred men, because she was terrified of being rejected.

 

The door opened and at the very same time, Wanda’s laptop and the television in the room she shared with Jean both turned off at the same time. Wanda turned around and glared at Jean who met it with one of her own. Jean made a small gesture with her hand and both items were unplugged at the same time as Jean sat on her bed next to Wanda. 

 

“You’re scaring me, Wanda. You’ve done nothing but obsess over this since the news first came out.” Jean sighed again and went right over to sit next to Wanda. “You sit here and you think about the murders. You go to class and you can’t concentrate because you’re thinking about them. And … things have been mysteriously breaking and weirdly missing all over the Mansion.” Jean sighed again and crossed the space over to where Wanda was sitting. “I know you’re angry and I’m angry too, but we can’t bring them back.” 

 

“Gabrielle and Martin. Those were their names.” Wanda turned a little to face Jean. “Martin was twenty-two and Gabrielle was nineteen- she was only a year and a half older than me and those animals murdered her. And they’re going to keep doing it, until someone stops them. And who’s going to do that? The cops don’t give a shit about mutants, they’ll quietly drop the case once the media coverage dies down a little. And you haven’t seen the reaction online. People are  _ cheering  _ this. Thousands and thousands of people think this is fantastic. And then I think about what happened in Germany and I realize it could have been you and Scott and that thought makes me sick, Jean.

 

And Uncle Charles will say something about how we need to be better or bigger than them, to listen to the better angels of our nature, but what’s the point? What’s the point of being the better person if it gets us killed? Maybe I don’t want to be killed to raise some moral point.” Wanda paused for a moment and wiped at her eyes, but there were no tears to brush away. Angry and upset as she was, she couldn’t seem to allow herself the catharsis of tears. 

 

“And what’s the alternative, Wanda?” Jean asked quietly, looking like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug Wanda or leave the room in a huff. The question hung heavily in the air for a moment, a physical presence dividing them, and if anything would push Wanda to the point of tears, it would be that feeling of  _ distance  _ from Jean. Part of her wanted to simply drop it and apologize to Jean and do precisely what she wanted, but Wanda Lehnsherr had far too much pride to do something like that. 

 

Jean had asked her a question and Wanda was going to give her the answer, even though she knew that Jean wouldn’t like it. 

 

“We fight back. It’s not like other cases of this happening in history. Gabrielle and Martin, they were helpless. But we aren’t. Some of us have the power not only to defend ourselves but to strike back against those who would harm us. We have the power to find and  _ end  _ them.” Wanda didn’t really want to look Jean in the eye as she spoke, but she had to, she had to say it, she had to own it. The idea of simply condemning such an outrage with feeble words, of not defending mutantkind with the full power at their disposal, seemed outrageous- not precisely cowardly, but insane and stupid. 

 

“And where does it end? Who’s the enemy? Who gets to define who the enemy is, Wanda? Do you? Violence breeds violence, hatred breeds hatred. Don’t get me wrong, I want to see these fuckers go down- I do, I really do, but what we need is justice, not vengeance.” Jean gazed sadly at Wanda and Wanda wondered whether it was simply a moment of pity or whether there really was a chasm beginning to open between them and that thought made Wanda want to shrivel up and die. 

 

Jean remained quiet for a long time, sadness more and more obviously playing in her features, but otherwise giving no particular indication of what she was thinking. The longer that the silence went on, the more that Wanda’s heart began to sink, because she had an absolutely  _ terrible  _ feeling about what Jean was going to say, that she really had crossed some kind of line. 

 

“... Jean-” 

 

Jean closed her eyes and Wanda saw tears forming at their edges and all she wanted to do in that moment was drown in them and never again be a source of pain for her. She haltingly reached out a hand, but Jean moved away and this time, a strangled sigh that sounded almost like a sob came out of her mouth and Wanda couldn’t do anything but draw her arms around herself defensively, bracing for the worst. Her heart had sunk down into her stomach and the room felt like it was closing in around her. 

 

“I think maybe we should have separate rooms, Wanda.” Jean said quietly. “This isn’t healthy for either of us.” 

 

The tears that she’d refused to shed for innocent victims of a massacre came freely now and Wanda hated herself for being so ridiculously selfish and hated herself because she’d brought the situation down on herself. She’d known, understood that Jean was never really going to be her girlfriend, but she thought they had a special friendship, something unique that didn’t fit neatly into boxes.

 

Jean looked like she was trying to be gentle at the same time as she was fighting a colossal headache. She got up and went back over to her bed and flopped down on it, looking up at the ceiling. Wanda wished she knew what she was thinking, but at the same time dreaded it. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t good, didn’t bode well for the future of their relationship. 

 

_ She told me she loved me. Was that a lie?  _

 

Wanda lay down on her bed herself, only a few feet away from Jean but it felt like the distance between them should properly be measured in lightyears. She sat and stared up at the ceiling, simply listening to her breathing and Jean’s own breathing and tried her very, very best to pretend that her world wasn’t crashing in on her and that they were simply chilling in their room like usual. 

 

Jean would be grousing about how Scott didn’t seem to get multiple hints, or maybe they’d snark about one of the new arrivals or about the latest hideously offensive thing that their father had done. Maybe they would just talk about inane bullshit like television shows or music. Wanda would try once again to turn Jean onto something heavier than Nirvana, and Jean would try to get Wanda to appreciate the merits of various pop music songs. 

 

“Wanda.” She heard Jean speak, sadly, almost desperately. 

 

Wanda remained silent, felt the irrational urge to punish Jean for her decision, felt ashamed of those feelings and of saying things that upset her, even though she believed them. Ashamed of the fact that she could cry for her own failure of a love life even though she couldn’t cry over the death of innocent people. Ashamed of the fact that she knew that her father would approve of the way she was thinking, and even more of the fact that she was starting to understand, just a little, of where he was coming from. 

 

“It’s not … it’s not about this, about your obsession with this case. About your anger about it. And it’s not because I don’t love you. It’s because …” Jean took a breath. “It’s because I love you too much, and Scott would never understand and we live in a stupid world where people like Scott would never understand. The problem is that when you’re here, all the time, with me- one of these days I’m going to do something that will end up getting all of us hurt so badly.

 

And I  _ know  _ that I’m hurting you, I know that now, and I’ve been so selfish thinking that I could have it both ways, like I could have Scott and I could also have a kind-of sort-of girlfriend too and maybe in a better world that’s how things could work, but we don’t live there. You deserve someone who can give you their full attention.” 

 

Wanda remained silent again, because it was all a little hard to process and she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to believe Jean entirely, or if this was intended to make her feel better. It wasn’t that she really doubted Jean’s honesty so much as the fact that everything in her life seemed so perilous and uncertain, their very lives seemed to be such incredibly fragile things. Jean and Scott, two of the people she loved most in the whole world, had so nearly been victims of the same violence. 

 

Jean rolled over slightly to face her and Wanda did the same- two pairs of green eyes met each other in silence. Objectively, they were both kind of a mess, Jean was clearly stressed and Wanda was plainly exhausted- she hadn’t slept decently in the few days since the news had first broke and the stress of obsession was starting to get to her. She didn’t know how her father seemed to turn thoughts of hatred and vengeance into a fuelling power- she found that it simply broke her down. 

 

“You have to admit, this would make a hell of a YA novel.” Wanda dryly observed out of nowhere, desperately needing to take the air out of this ludicrously emotional situation. 

 

“Oh my god, it would be perfect.” Jean actually laughed slightly, wiping at tear-stained eyes. “But like, one of us would probably be hit by a car or die of cancer or something because nobody has happy endings in those books.” 

 

“It would be me. It’s always the queer person who dies. And I’m way the fuck queerer than you.” Wanda managed to laugh herself.

 

“You’d be surprised. Scott would be  _ very  _ surprised.” And at that, they both laughed until it literally hurt and they were gasping for air. And then Wanda pictured Scott’s reaction to hearing about Jean’s kinkier fantasies in her brain and she laughed some more. 

 

“We probably shouldn’t make fun of poor Scott so much.” Wanda finally said. “Even if he makes it really, really easy.” 

 

“We make fun of him because we love him.” Jean replied, but her smile faded away and she sighed. “Wanda?” 

 

“... yes?” 

 

“Does it … does it hurt when I’m talking about Scott?” Jean’s eyes were wide and Wanda could literally see the guilt creeping up into them. 

 

“Sometimes.” Wanda replied honestly. “But if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have pushed Scott to ask you out if I didn’t want you two to be happy together. Because I think you need each other. And I love him too. Not … not like my father probably wishes I did. Trust me, my dad would love nothing more for me to fuck Scott into his clutches and if you think that’s putting it too bluntly …” 

 

“No, that sounds like your father.” Jean sighed. “That’s why, that’s why it’s really hard for me to hear you talk about vengeance and things like that, because that’s the only time that you sound like him. And you’re so much better than your father. And …” Jean took a breath. “I just want you to find someone who can really make you happy, who can give you everything he or she has and I think, I think you need a little distance from this, Wanda.” 

 

“Sure. I can just get laid and all my problems will go away.” Wanda regretted the snarky response almost as soon as it left her lips. She didn’t see Jean rolling her eyes, but it was easy enough to imagine. 

 

“As you know, I haven’t had much luck with that despite  _ having _ a boyfriend.”  Jean turned over on her back again and looked up at the ceiling. “This is probably the worst-ever advice, but you know, it might not be the worst idea in the world to find the nearest passably attractive boy or girl around here and go out on a date or something?” 

 

“The nearest passably attractive boy around here isn’t likely to be going out on any dates- especially not after what happened.” Wanda turned over to look at the ceiling, though now she dimly perceived Jean turning again towards her. 

 

“You can have a lot of fun right here on Institute grounds. I mean, Kurt hasn’t even gone on a hunt for the Westchester Bobcat yet.” Jean smirked slightly for a moment. “But honestly, would it actually hurt to hang out with him? And if anyone needs to get out of their headspace here as much as you, it’s  _ him. _ ” 

 

Wanda considered it for a moment- she would be lying if she said she didn’t find the blue-furred mutant strangely attractive and she was more than a little curious about how that tail worked- it looked possibly prehensile, but she wasn’t sure. At the same time, though, was it fair for her to go out with him and risk having him think that her heart was entirely open, or open at all? 

 

“So let’s say I hang out with Fuzzbutt.” 

 

“ _ Fuzzbutt?”  _

 

“Fuzzbutt.” Wanda repeated emphatically. “Don’t you think that he deserves someone that can give him her full attention, as you’ve so eloquently said?” 

 

“Then be honest with him and make it clear that it’s a for-fun thing.” Jean took a breath. “Consider it an experiment. A science experiment.” 

 

“I’ll think about it.” 

 

Deep down, Wanda felt that it was more than a little unfair to bring Kurt, or anyone, into the tangled mess that was her life. It was also more than a little strange to have Jean push for it, but then again, was it any stranger than her pushing Scott and Jean together? At least Jean didn’t have emotional investment in Kurt. And maybe it would be a good idea to simply get out of her own head for a little bit- even if part of her didn’t want to, whether it was about remembering the two people who had died or keeping alive the flame in her heart for Jean. 

 

_ I am such a hopeless fuckup. A true Lehnsherr.  _

 

_ My father’s daughter.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	27. Kitty III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The X-Men! In the Danger Room! 
> 
> Kitty doesn't have the best day in the world. 
> 
> Logan appears to be sticking around?

Kitty looked around the huge, featureless space of the Danger Room- it certainly felt intimidating, though she couldn’t really see anything that was dangerous about it, per se, just a big empty room. She cast her eyes about at the people around her- Scott, Jean, Bobby, Pietro and Wanda, all looking like they didn’t quite know what to expect today, either. Training traditionally happened outside or with the Danger Room already set and something felt different about today. 

 

Kitty also saw Kurt there, and she made herself smile a little shyly at him, even if, to her shame, he still frightened her a little- though in the bright, sterile light of the Danger Room, rather less so. She looked over to Bobby and smiled faintly over to him and noticing that Jean and Scott were holding hands, reached out her own hand to him. She couldn’t help but grin and blush a little bit as he took her hand in his. 

 

The back door of the Danger Room opened up again and in walked the man who had, only a few nights ago, tried to kill Charles Xavier. It was Kitty’s first time really seeing him up close, and to be honest, he didn’t cut a terribly impressive figure. He was rather short, though quite powerfully built. He looked like he might’ve been at least part Native American, though that was more or less a guess on Kitty’s part. He smirked at them, showing sharpened canines. 

 

“Bet yer all wonderin’ what I’m doin’ here.” Logan spoke- Kitty was pretty sure that was the man’s name. “Kinda askin’ the same thing myself. Education isn’t really my calling. But favors are favors and yer headmasters think you guys need some defence trainin’. So Charley asked me to help give you poor sons and daughters of bitches some of that. So here I am. 

 

It’s gonna be real simple. This room’s gonna, I guess, make some sort of abandoned urban landscape. Warehouses, things like that. And you all are gonna try and find me and put me down within an hour’s space.” Logan popped his claws. “I’ll even make it easy for ya.” The claws went back in. “I won’t use these. And I’m tough, you guys don’t need ta be gentle. If Charley decides I’ve had enough, he terminates it and you win. If he decides you guys have had enough of me, he terminates it an’ I win.” 

 

Scott was the first one to speak. “Why should any of us trust you?” He stepped out, a little closer to Logan, actually inches taller than the older man- though it was plain that Logan found him about as intimidating as a three-legged kitten. Kitty had to give him credit, though, for saying what they were all thinking- she briefly scanned the faces around her. None of them looked particularly happy about the situation, some were confused, others more angry. 

 

“That’s a real good question, Boy Scout.” Logan laughed and looked up at him. “Charley seems to think I’m okay. He’s givin’ me a chance. Seems to be that’s what this place is about. Givin’ people a chance. Take it up with Daddy if you don’t like it. Don’t matter none to me.” 

 

Scott’s hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t say anything further, though he seemed like he wanted to speak. Kitty suspected that there would be a tense conversation between Scott and his father in the future. She kind of felt for him- she figured that there’d be a similarly awkward conversation with her own parents down the road. She hadn’t spoken to them for a few days, but what would she say? 

 

_ Oh hi, Mom and Dad. Yeah, a few nights ago a brainwashed assassin tried to kill the headmaster and I threw myself into the situation. And now I guess he’s going to train us how to fight. But things are going great! I think I have a boyfriend now! So no need to freak out and pull me out and drag Professor Xavier before a court and sue him and shut down the Institute and send him to jail! _

 

_ I’m so screwed.  _

 

Logan looked around at the assembled group. “Boy Scout here’s kinda the leader, isn’t he? Says what you guys are thinkin’. So he’s got guts.” His lips parted in another frankly predatory grin. “Anyone wanna tell me the mistake he made? Let’s pretend that I’m actually an enemy and he’s confrontin’ me. How did Boy Scout fuck up?” 

 

Nobody immediately said anything, though more than a few of the people present glared at Logan. Kitty herself had a feeling, though, that it wasn’t intended to be primarily an embarrassment, but a lesson, even if it was crassly expressed. She tried to look at it for a moment, to see what he was actually talking about. It didn’t take her long. 

 

“Scott’s got energy powers. It makes no sense for him to come closer. At sufficient range, you can’t touch him. He just has to look at you and he’d mash you into paste. But he’s stepped within range of a quick lunging movement.” Kitty narrowed her eyes a bit. “But you didn’t have to make your tactical point like that, jackass.” 

 

Logan actually laughed, a deep, low sound. “Guilty as charged, half-pint.” 

 

“Start the scenario.” Scott replied coolly. “You’ve had your cute little moment.” 

 

Obligingly, the Danger Room’s pain grey walls faded into a realistic recreation of an abandoned warehouse district- and not only did it look realistic, but Kitty could smell faint traces of salt from a nearby sea and the smell of industrial chemicals and far less savory things. Logan, to her slight dismay was gone. Scott put up his hand quietly, looking around carefully. It was dark, but Kitty knew that he could see effortlessly, that the same hideous power that he couldn’t quite control had the useful effect of permanently illuminating his vision. The way that Kurt’s featureless eyes glowed suggested he was the same. 

 

_ Jean’s patching me in to all of you. We keep as silent as possible. Kurt, Kitty and Pietro, scout duty. Pietro, set up a perimeter. Find the outside of the scenario. Kurt and Kitty, you’re looking inside. Do not engage him. Jean, Wanda and Bobby, you’re with me. We stick together, we’re the main firepower.  _

 

Kitty took a breath and headed out from the main group, looking about- there was enough light from the moon and the street lamps that she wasn’t totally relying on her night vision, but still, she imagined that Kurt would have a better time of it. At the same time, however, she had the ability to quickly duck into buildings and simply look using her powers. 

 

It was also strange getting used to hearing the telepathic voices of other people in her head, but Kitty reminded herself that it really wasn’t all that different than using a communicator. It was also a way to keep coordination of tactics beyond the abilities of even the sharpest set of ears to hear. They had any number of significant advantages over Logan, truth be told, though he had a lot of experience and they had almost none. 

 

Kitty quickly ducked inside a building, phasing just far enough into it to take a look around- it looked empty, but it was difficult to tell for sure, if it was. She reminded herself-  _ it’s just a game, he won’t hurt us, the Professor wouldn’t let him do this if he thought otherwise. Besides, he can’t hurt me, I could just phase and run away and if I go far enough I’d end up outside the Danger Room.  _ However, Kitty realized, she had no idea where the exit was now that the holographic technology was up. She could only phase as long as she could hold her breath- eventually she’d lose control of her powers and if she slipped out of phase in the middle of bedrock, she’d almost certainly die. 

 

_ Besides. It’s a training mission. I’m not scared.  _

 

She entered the room, eyes flitting around quickly and then going behind a box. Holding her breath, she looked through the box swiftly and then went back behind it. She didn’t see or hear anything-  _ he’s probably not here.  _ If she listened really hard, she could hear the wind and another rushing sound, which she figured to be Pietro, who could dash around the perimeter of the room so fast that Logan wouldn’t have the faintest chance of catching him. It effectively trapped him in a small area. He’d lost his freedom of maneuver. 

 

Kitty slightly more boldly stepped out into the open and then back behind some boxes. 

 

_ Any sightings yet, Kitty?  _

 

_ Nothing. Kurt having any better luck?  _

 

_ No. Are you in a building right now?  _

 

_ Yeah, one of the warehouses, not far from our meeting point.  _

 

_ Get out of there.  _ Scott sounded urgent.  _ There aren’t any civilians here- I’m going to see if we can flush him out of his hiding place.  _

 

Kitty dashed out of the building as quickly as she could, giving a quick mental affirmative to Scott before she heard the wild, wild thundercrack of his power activating and saw a colossal arc of crimson energy blast a huge hole in the building and simply continue, ripping it to shreds, pulverizing the brick into dust. It was an astonishing, incredible sight and her jaw nearly dropped watching it. 

 

“Pretty impressive sight, innit, half-pint?” Logan dropped down just beneath her and she barely had the time to phase before he went to pounce her. “You guys are startin’ to catch on. Won’t help ya much, though.” He reached out to grab her, which wouldn’t mean anything, because she was in phase. 

 

It was then that an incredible shooting pain shot through her body as he reached into her and it was all she could do to scream. Logan for his part, whipped his arm back immediately, eyes widening as she tottered, barely on her feet and then fell backwards to the ground. Somewhere, distantly, Kitty felt a distinct  _ thump  _ against her head and then everything went black. 

 

When Kitty came to, the grey emptiness of the Danger Room had replaced the broken-down urban landscape and everyone was gathered around her. Kitty slowly sat up and noticed that Bobby was holding her hand, looking pale and worried. She looked over and saw that Kurt was pressing a cold compress to her head and she realized that it was twice now that he’d helped her out, that she was going to just have to get over himself, because he was clearly concerned about her too. 

 

Kitty didn’t really notice the pain so much from her head, but she felt sort of lightheaded and dizzy. She reached her hand up to her head and realized that it felt kind of clammy. Jean came over to her with a blanket and some water and Kitty let her wrap it around her and eagerly took some of the water- which wasn’t that cold, but was still nice and wet. 

 

Logan and Scott were arguing- well, actually, it was more that Scott was yelling at Logan, who seemed to be quite unconcerned with what Scott was saying. He looked over at her quickly, though, and she was pretty sure that he looked worried. Kitty didn’t know quite how to take that- it certainly wasn’t his fault that she bumped into a box on her way down, but what about what had happened to her before?  _ Something happened when he reached out for me. Maybe it has to do with his bones?  _

 

And there was something that Kitty didn’t love about the way that Wanda and Pietro were standing off to the side, talking quietly with each other- they seemed to be having a little argument of their own. He wondered what they were talking about, or how they immediately left the room with Dr. Lehnsherr when he very briefly showed up. Kitty knew that a lot of the people didn’t like him very much, but that’d always struck Kitty as a little unfair- she’d actually quite enjoyed the few classes she’d had with him. 

 

Kitty sat up higher and, suddenly feeling ridiculous being tended to as if she was actually severely injured, stood up as quickly as she can- something she regretted as she instantly felt woozy. Almost immediately, though, she felt Bobby steadying her and she gave him a little smile. “See. Just fine ... “ She reached up and felt her head- there’d probably be a bit of a bump there, but she figured she’d be fine. 

 

It didn’t take long for Professor Xavier to come into the room and immediately come over to where she was, looking apologetic. 

 

“Katherine …”

 

“Call me Kitty, Professor. I don’t get called Katherine unless I’ve done something worng.” Kitty rubbed the back of her head a little bit. It was sort of sensitive, but the horrid feeling from the adamantium was going away. 

 

“I just want to apologize-” 

 

He was interrupted by Logan who came over. “Don’t. These kids need training. I’m not sure what happened, but it’s on me, not you. You okay, half-pint?” 

 

“I’m fine.” Kitty nodded and then looked at them both. “Logan’s right. I mean, this stuff happens all the time. I’m okay. Just gotta watch … whatever the heck is on your bones, mister.” 

 

“Adamantium. Ask Dr. Lehnsherr about it- he’d know more about it than me.” Logan looked at her again for a moment. “Yer not half bad for a kid. Tougher than some.” He gave her a smile and a bit of a shrug to Professor Xavier and walked off.  _ He’s right, though, we need training. It’s a dangerous world and it’s not going to magically get safer. Besides, we had a half-decent plan.  _

 

Charles sighed slightly and then turned his attention to Kitty again. “I suggest that you take it easy the rest of the day.” He smiled a little wryly. “I’m certain that Mr. Drake would be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

 

“Absolutely, Professor. I have certification in both grape-peeling and pillow-fluffing. Don’t you worry, Sir.” Bobby actually saluted and Kitty couldn’t help but giggle a little bit. 

  
“Professor Xavier?” Kitty spoke up, a little nervous to do so, but not really able to keep quiet- in all honesty, a common enough theme in her life. 

 

“Yes, Kitty?” Professor Xavier replied gently. 

 

“Don’t blame Logan for this. I think he’s all right. I know Scott doesn’t like him much and I get why, but you know, accidents happen and please don’t hold it against him.” The more Kitty thought about it, the more she actually felt badly for Logan- he didn’t seem like the sort of person who would sign up to kill willingly. Maybe he needed the second chance just as much as any of them needed sanctuary and training. 

 

“I think he’s all right too, Kitty. As for the future, we’ll have to see about that.” Xavier smiled faintly. “Get some rest, though- tomorrow  _ will  _ be a regular day of classes.” 


	28. Scott III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has discussions with Pietro and Erik. 
> 
> Erik challenges Scott. 
> 
> Philosophies are articulated.

Scott Summers wasn’t used to disagreeing strongly with his father on anything more important than the ideal doneness of beef- but he found that he could not at all condone the notion of training himself and his friends with a man who had not long ago, tried to kill them. It wasn’t an act of generosity so much as it was brazenly irresponsible.  _ I’ll have to talk to him about it soon- but I don’t want to. What if I’m the one who’s wrong here?  _

 

He tried to keep his attention on the hockey game, but he found that he really couldn’t muster much enthusiasm about it. The Rangers scored and he felt a deep mental shrug- it didn’t really matter, did it? He did better when focused on his studies, but even that seemed somewhat beside the point. Things were clearly, manifestly building up towards a crisis. He knew that his father and Erik were not seeing eye to eye, that a rift was building between the two men. 

 

“... you’re totally not actually watching that game, are you?” Scott turned around to see Pietro settle down next to him. 

 

“... not really.” Scott shrugged. “Turn it to soccer if you want, I guess.” 

 

“It’s called football, dumbass. At least in the civilized world.” Pietro laughed and then changed the channel to a match. Pietro looked like he was interested for a few minutes and then it started, moment by moment, clearly becoming mere background noise for whatever he was thinking about. Scott wondered if it was the same things he was thinking about. 

 

“So … what’s up with your dad getting someone who was trying to kill us to teach? Pretty sure that’s against some school regulations.” Pietro finally said, as if making casual conversation.

 

A wave of protectiveness couldn’t help but wash over Scott- even though he was thinking the same thing, he hated hearing other people criticize his father. He bit the urge to say something awful about Pietro’s own father, though- it would be unproductive and cruel. Scott imagined that Pietro felt the same about people criticizing his father- though Wanda loved nothing more than to point things out, to the point where he’d been tempted to defend the man. 

 

Scott decided he might as well be honest. He wasn’t any really great friends with Pietro, but they got along all right- had been forced to learn how to do that, because their fathers were in such close proximity. “I … I don’t really know. It doesn’t seem like a fantastic idea. Maybe he knows something we don’t, though.” 

 

“I guess it’s kinda hard for you, huh? I mean, Charles is a pretty cool guy overall even if he’s really kind of a cloud-dweller. But I dunno man, what if that guy had snapped on Pryde there? And I’m not sure I buy that she’s somehow allergic to his adamantium bones.” Pietro sat up in the chair, looking like he was deep in thought and Scott couldn’t help but notice how much Pietro really did look his his father- a little slimmer to be sure, but made of the same cloth. No one would ever mistake Pietro for anything but a Lehnsherr. “You’re clearly struggling like hell to even think something bad about him.” 

 

“It’s not thinking badly of him.” Scott snapped back slightly and then sighed. “But yes, I think it may be a mistake. We don’t know this man well enough. He’s not part of the family.” 

 

“Ah yes, the great extended Xavier-Lehnsherr family.” Pietro looked like he was going to say something snarky and then, like he’d very quickly changed his mind. “So .. Scott, what do you, um, think about the situation? In general, with mutants? And these Purifiers?” 

 

_ Well, this conversation has taken a bit of a turn hasn’t it?  _ There was also something about the way that Pietro’s eyes were meeting his that suggested that he wasn’t just making conversation.  _ Something’s up.  _ Scott sat up a little higher himself, a little straighter. He couldn’t help but wonder if Pietro was working on behalf of his father, though that would be slightly odd- though perhaps Wanda declined. 

 

“What can I say, Pietro? Of course I’m angry about it-” 

 

“- yeah, but here’s the thing. What if we could go  _ do  _ something about it, Summers? Like say, we found out who they were. I mean, we’re not helpless like those kids are. You could just like, fucking,  _ look  _ at them. Don’t you sometimes wish you could go out and take them down? The cops aren’t doing a damn thing and you know it.” Pietro huffed out a little harshly. “I mean, it’s not like … I guess it’s just a wish I have.” 

 

“It’d never work, Pietro. Then we’re criminals and people are after us. And violence met with more violence just causes escalation. And just because we have superpowers doesn’t make us bulletproof. Sure, you can run really fast- but all it takes is one moment, one mistake.” Scott sighed. “We’re nowhere near being ready for something like that, even if we wanted to, even I thought it was a good idea.” 

 

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not the best idea but goddammit, don’t you just want to go out and kick their asses?” Pietro squirmed visibly and he was starting to fidget again. “I hate sitting here and watching us fuck up training. We shouldn’t have terminated. Like, we should’ve taken Pryde out and taken the smirk off that guy’s face. Don’t even lie, Scott, I know you’d be totally up for that.” 

 

“No, we did the right thing terminating. Kitty’s all right, but we didn’t know that at the time.” Scott kind of did like the idea of defeating Logan, but he knew that was an irresponsible urge. “It would have been foolish to do anything else. I just hope that Dad … thinks really hard about how much he actually trusts this guy. And what he wants us to even be. I’m not sure.” 

 

“For what it’s worth, I thought you had a decent plan. I mean, I wasn’t nearly central enough in it, but it was all right. I think you’d be pretty good at that kind of thing.” Pietro actually smirked slightly. “Just remember, dude, speed is king on the battlefield.” 

 

“I’ll keep that in mind if we’re ever on a battlefield, Pietro. And maintaining the perimeter is an important job. It limits his operational space. Makes it impossible for him to maneuver- the Danger Room space will expand with the hologram if people move too far, but by constantly running the perimeter he’s stuck in a far smaller area. You move so quickly too, that there’s nearly zero chance you wouldn’t spot him. I dunno, I’d say you were in a pretty central role, Pietro.” Scott leaned back a little, looking back up at the soccer game. “I know we’re not best buds, but don’t think that I don’t think you’re a valuable part of the team. Or the family.” 

 

“Well thanks, General, but you’re missing something very important here. We’re not a team. We’re … students at a school. Who are awkwardly being jerked around with no real plan about what to do about it.” Pietro got up for a moment and started pacing about, probably trying to do so at normal speed, but it had to be at least twice the rate of an Olympic sprinter. “You’re a guy who likes to do stuff. This has got to be frustrating for you too.” 

 

“It is.” Scott replied, trying to maintain measured calm, which was harder than it looked like in the face of Pietro’s furious pacing. “Pietro. We’ll figure out something. We will. Come on, let’s go watch this soccer game for a bit or hit the gym or something. It’s pointless sitting around and talking right now.”  

 

“Yeah, let’s just blow it o-” Pietro stopped dead in his tracks as his father walked into the room, standing there, his annoyance dissipating into something that looked almost like fear. Scott himself couldn’t help but stand up-  _ but why? This is a guy who I’ve known half my life. Wanda’s like a sister to me and Pietro, honestly, is probably as close to a brother as I’ll get.  _

 

“Scott’s right. You sound like you would benefit from some exercise, Pietro. We can discuss these matters again when you’ve calmed down a little.” The tone of his voice was even, but it sounded like an order more than a request. Pietro almost immediately took off. Erik’s attention went over to Scott. “Pietro is temperamental as always, I see. But he’s not wrong. Everything has happened very quickly, but I promise you- we won’t simply sit and await events. There will come a time when we can no longer afford to sit on the sidelines.” 

 

“And what then?” Scott hated how tentative he sounded, but there was something undeniably intimidating about Erik right now, something cold and distant- even for him. He didn’t seem like a teacher and scientist so much as he seemed like some impossibly powerful emperor. 

 

“A chasm is building, getting wider by the moment. Right now it is only a crack, but soon enough, you will have to choose what side you stand on. Innocent people are already being killed, while laws that segregate us from the rest of the population are being framed. I fully expect that they will pass- even many people who are not bigots will be convinced to allow it on ‘national security’ grounds. I’m afraid that soon enough, the time will come where we will not have the luxury of sitting here in our school- indeed, the war has already come to us. 

 

I do not approve of this Logan as an instructor to you, as I know you also disapprove. But he is as much a victim as anyone- think about it, Scott, powerful people, most likely within government, brainwashed and experimented on a mutant to send him to kill Charles. Your father. Do you really think they won’t try again?” 

 

Scott had to admit that it was something that he was terrified of- and perhaps the next such assassin they sent wasn’t some lost, confused soul but a willing and hardened killer, or someone who just couldn’t be reached. Last time, they’d been helped by a combination of at least some reluctance on the part of Logan- he had to admit that much, and by sheer luck. Scott knew that it was a fool’s game to rely on luck. 

 

“I know we’re going to be engaging in more intensive training with a heavier self-defence component than before. Though if I might be candid-” Scott considered his words carefully. “Of all the people in this building, you and Dad are the ones who have the strongest knowledge of their powers. And Dad’s powers aren’t really suited for direct combat. Have you considered suggesting to Dad that you do it?” 

 

That seemed to please Erik and he smiled slightly. “I have. You were speaking to Pietro about a team. He was rude as ever- but he did have a point. You don’t have one- yet. What say we make it a little challenge for you, Scott? Build a team over- let’s say, two weeks. A fortnight. Then at that point, your team challenges me in a Danger Room scenario of your choice.” 

 

If beating Logan seemed like a fair challenge, defeating Erik in a contest seemed virtually insurmountable- Scott was fairly sure he was as powerful as all of them combined and certainly, had more skill in the use of his mutant powers. At the same time, though, the idea couldn’t help but appeal to him. The more he thought about it, the more he figured that as powerful as Erik surely was, he was still basically a human being and even powerful people made mistakes.

 

Scott also liked the notion of being able to choose the terrain- that would go a long way towards equalizing the battlefield. Scott would want somewhere in a nature scene, without a lot of metal to manipulate- he assumed that Erik wouldn’t cheat and simply start using the architecture of the Danger Room itself against them. He already had a few ideas in mind, and he’d be training them extensively in that area. Surely Charles would allow him to run scenarios. 

 

“You know what? I’m game. Two weeks tomorrow?” It wasn’t that long of a time, but the goal, he figured wasn’t so much to actually beat Erik as to show how well they could perform. If Scott could impress Erik, and also his father, perhaps he’d be given a more direct voice in what happened. Maybe, also, he hoped that he could leverage this into something that would bridge the gap between his Dad and Erik. 

 

That could have been a foolish hope, but then again, Scott was his father’s son- even if they didn’t share blood. Scott thought of himself as a little more pragmatic tactically as his father, but he didn’t for a second pretend that he didn’t basically share Charles Xavier’s ideals. 

 

“Very well then. I look forward to it.” Erik smiled again, this time almost warmly. “By all accounts, you had a good plan yesterday. I suspect it would have been successful, had you been allowed to execute it. Thankfully, Miss Pryde appears to be quite all right. It seems adamantium is somewhat resistant to her phasing abilities- something, I’m afraid, I did not predict.” 

 

“Sir, if I-” 

 

“Sir? Scott, good heavens, I’ve known you since you were a boy. You’re like a brother to my children. Please, just call me Erik.” Erik maintained that warm, almost fatherly smile. 

 

“Don’t write us off, Erik. Don’t write my father off. Don’t write off this Institute, or the dream it embodies. Please. We need you too.” Scott looked him in the eye, feeling nervous saying it, but not able to keep quiet. “I know that you and my father do not always agree, but we need to be together. I don’t know exactly what is coming, but whatever it is, we need to face it together. As an Institute. A team. A _ family _ .” 

 

Erik chuckled softly, a low deep sound that he didn’t hear very often- it was an easy chuckle of indulgence that worried Scott more than it reassured him. It sounded like he wasn’t really taking Scott’s words seriously, that he was humouring him. Scott’s jaw clenched a little at that, though he tried very hard to keep the rest of his body language relaxed. 

 

But then a sea change came over Erik and the room became smaller, his tone lower, his words more heavily tinged with the mingled accents of Central and Eastern Europe. Even behind the red glare of his glasses, he felt Erik’s almost hypnotic gaze. 

 

“I won’t, Scott, but consider this- perhaps we need to think about more than just the people in this Institute. This is about so much more than you or I, or your father- Pietro, Wanda … Jean. This is about mutantkind. What we do must keep that in mind. The future of our people, Scott.

 

Perhaps your father is right and peace will reign. But, Scott, you’re a student of history. What are the odds of that? That the better angels of our nature will save us from a bloody struggle? That we will truly, have peace in our time? 

 

You want to know the truth about how I feel about your father, Scott? I fear for him. He has a dream, yes, a beautiful dream. Martin Luther King voiced a similar one. Gandhi as well. 

 

They dreamed beautiful dreams, Scott, and they  _ died.  _

 

When do the peacemakers simply become lambs to the slaughter? At what point, Scott, do we say,  _ enough?  _ Do we permit a law to mark us as Hitler marked the Jews of Germany?” 

 

“Erik- we’re talking about the United States government. Comparing them to Na-”

 

“Be careful, Scott.” Erik’s tone changed again and it chilled Scott to the bone. “You know nothing of these things, of the true nature of evil. Men always despise what they do not understand.  _ Always. _ ” He took a deep breath and made an errant wave with his hand, as if dispelling the intense emotion that had just animated him. When he spoke again, he was almost disturbingly calm. 

 

“Two weeks, Scott. I look forward to the challenge.” 

  
  



	29. Robert II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senator Kelly meets with Sebastian and Tessa in Washington. 
> 
> Things go south very quickly.

It had been a very long week for Senator Robert Kelly- many of his allies in Congress had been notably hesitant to be openly seen as supporting the Mutant Registration Act in the aftermath of the murders of mutants in New York and other cities. Robert couldn’t particularly blame them, he found the murders repugnant himself and entirely contrary to the spirit of the law he was trying to pass. The way he saw it, mutants were as much victims as instigators, but nonetheless, they were too dangerous to simply be allowed to go free. 

 

More disturbingly, he felt that he was on the edge of losing some allies of the particular bill-most notably the President of the United States. Without his support, Kelly knew he didn’t have a hope of making it a bipartisan bill and for him, it was vitally important that it be so, that it be the united action of the United States government. He believed that he had the support of most of the people behind him- everyone from Stryker’s Purity Crusade people to pro-mutant moderates should find reason to support Registration. 

 

“You look like a man who needs a stiff drink, Robert.” A deep voice boomed behind him and a strong hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s been a bad week, but it’ll get better. The news cycle will move on. Something will happen that will push Registration forward.” 

 

Robert Kelly turned around to see one of his oldest political backers and best friends, Sebastian Shaw- a physical presence as bullish and powerful as his political influence was. Kelly knew that he would have had a prayer of winning his last senatorial race without ample support from Sebastian- between a primary challenge and a powerful Democratic opponent, it had been hard going. 

 

On his arm was, truly, one of the most beautiful women that Robert had ever seen- tall, extremely fair, with raven-black hair and red, red lips. She was dressed fairly conservatively, in a prim just-above knee length skirt and blouse, but he still found it hard to take his eyes off of her. He forced himself to- it made him feel guilty. Robert had a weakness for beautiful women. One of the things that had made him rely on Sebastian’s assistance. Robert figured her for Sebastian’s current girlfriend, though she couldn’t have been much older than twenty. 

 

“Only if you’re buying, Sebastian.” Robert smiled a little ruefully. “We’ve been having our asses kicked this week. Can’t you tell Miss Frost to make some better news or something?” 

 

Sebastian laughed. “Come now, we both know that Frost Media would never invent news. They simply report what happens in a fair and balanced way. But it won’t take long, I’m certain. Some poor mutant is going to lose control of their powers or get angry and hit back. Hopefully ineffectively- of course. But we’ll get everything back on track.” 

 

“If we want to do that, we’re going to have to get the President on side. I know you contributed to his campaign- surely you can put the screws to him.” Robert couldn’t help but sound a little chagrined about it, but he knew that Sebastian supported his political friends, not parties particularly. It was an effective strategy- no matter whether the Democrats or the Republicans held the White House, Sebastian seemed to be able to make whatever he wanted happen. The man had an uncanny ability to choose winners, or rather, to make winners happen. 

 

“Actually, I was going to help him. It seems to me that the President receives a lot of terrible advice from people around him. I was going to help him with that little problem. Of course,  _ good  _ advice constitutes the support of the Mutant Registration Act.” Sebastian smiled broadly. “If I may introduce to you, Robert, Miss Tessa Hartley, one of my most valued advisors.” He smirked slightly at Robert. “A pretty face, no doubt, but also one of the most accomplished political analysts on the planet.” 

 

Tessa for her part seemed content to let Sebastian speak, but briefly, they made eye contact and Robert instantly believed every word Sebastian said because in a lifetime of professional politics and recreational poker, he’d  _ never  _ felt so completely read by another human being. He reminded himself to never let himself play cards with the woman. Indeed, she seemed like she was too busy simply taking in information to bother speaking.

 

When she did speak, though, it was with a crisp upper-class British accent that suggested she was, at the very least, not born in America. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senator Kelly.” She offered her hand to shake with an economical, but graceful motion, which he accepted. “I expect we will be working closely together to further all of our mutual goals.” 

 

“Of course.” Senator Kelly replied, hesitant to say any more, lest he begin stammering, because really, she was  _ painfully  _ attractive. 

 

“Now, now, Senator.” Sebastian tsked at him playfully and clapped his shoulder again. “No stealing my assistants from me. You’ve done that once already, and that was quite enough. How is Sharon, anyway? You two haven’t been around for dinner in the longest time.” 

 

“Oh, she’s quite good. Busy with her charities and the children. It’s not really that far from home to Washington, but sometimes it seems much farther.” Robert couldn’t help but smile, though. He really did owe Sebastian a lot- one of Sebastian’s secretaries had become his wife after all. His debt to the man ran a lot further than the merely political. 

 

“Well, we’ll have to arrange something soon. But come on, let’s go see the President.” Sebastian led both of them down the corridors to where the Oval Office was- and even Robert had to be impressed with how fearlessly and confidently the man walked into a meeting with the President, the supposed most powerful man in the world. Then again, Tessa didn’t seem particularly intimidated by it either. 

 

It was then that he noticed something strange about the janitor- a strange featurelessness to the man’s face. Robert stopped for a moment to look again and then the janitor face turned to him and it was a monstrosity, more of a tormented blob of flesh, which seemed to squirm and writhe and twist into something that reminded him of a painting of damned souls in hell he once saw. He gave a little bit of a cry and stumbled backwards. 

 

“What’s the matter, Robert-” Sebastian’s mocking tone, however, dropped, as he turned around and with impressive agility, pushed both Robert and Tessa around the corner as the vaguely man-shaped creature with the hideous visage pulled a gun and advanced on them. 

 

“Die, Sssssenator! Mutantsss mussssst be freeee.” It hissed, but before it could fire, the room erupted into a deafening cacophony of gunfire as the Secret Service shot the mutant. Everything went into slow motion for Kelly as he swore he could actually see the bullets flying through the air, and the red blooms of impact spreading from the nondescript uniform the creature wore as one, two, ten, fifteen bullets hit it. 

 

The strange time warp snapped when he heard the shouting of the Secret Service agents swarming what was now a limp corpse, as the echoes of the gunfire stopped ringing through the White House. Some of the Secret Service men came up to the three of them and ushered them quickly out, guns drawn in protection. It all seemed too surreal for Robert to properly react to- that someone would try to kill him. 

 

He was brought closer to reality when he heard the unmistakable sound of soft sobbing from Tessa. Awkwardly, he took off his coat- it was rather cold outside and put it around her. “It’s all right. It’s going to be okay. We’re safe.” He put his hands on slender shoulders. “Just take a deep breath, it’s going to be all right-” 

 

“Like hell it’s all right, Robert.” Sebastian growled and Robert briefly, insanely, wondered if Sebastian was going to run into their and kill the would-be mutant assassin again. “This is exactly what we’re fighting against. This bloody chaos.” His hands were balled up into tight fists and there was a ferocious cast to his face. Robert didn’t have time for Sebastian’s macho displays, however. 

 

“We can talk about this  _ later.  _ Jesus Christ, Sebastian.” Robert hissed and then turned around to look at Tessa, his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe. Both of us. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be safe- there are very good men and women protecting us here. Come on, Sebastian, whatever hotel she’s at, we are  _ both  _ taking her there.” He didn’t often put his foot down, but the poor woman had to be terrified. He couldn’t blame her- he had the feeling his breakdown would come later. Right now, adrenaline and remnants of military training seemed to be keeping him functional. 

 

Sebastian simply nodded and sighed, seemingly a bit embarrassed. “Of course. Forgive me.” 

 

Tessa took a deep, trembling breath herself and wiped her eyes. “I just want to get out of here. Please, let’s just … let’s just go.” 

 

It was a virtually silent car ride back to the hotel where both Sebastian and Tessa had stayed- which sort of confirmed one of Robert’s suspicions, not that it really mattered any more. A mutant had tried to murder him in the White House itself- which left all sorts of strange questions unanswered, such as how someone was able to smuggle a gun inside one of the most secure buildings on Earth. Honestly, it suggested to him that it wasn’t a lone wolf, that there was some sort of organization. 

 

_ Mutant terrorists. My God.  _

 

Robert couldn’t help but feel ashamed, though, because only moments ago, he’d been joking with Sebastian about something coming up to validate the Act. It had, of course, but the reality of the situation left a bitter taste in his mouth. Something had happened, of course, and it would probably convince the President to drop his resistance to the act, but he had never wanted it to come at the price of having gunshots ringing in the most visible symbol of American democracy. 

 

Then again, Robert reminded himself, he hadn’t been the one who had come into that holiest of sanctuaries with the intention of shedding blood. It was that- he didn’t really like thinking it, but he couldn’t help but form the word  _ freak  _ in his mind that had done it, with the support of God knew how many other people. Of course, the assailant had been killed swiftly, but the investigation was only beginning. They would find the truth of the situation soon enough and Robert suspected that it would be even more dire than they were already thinking. 

 

“Sebastian.” Robert spoke quietly. “We need to talk to the President about Operation Wideawake. Immediately. We … we can’t count on the Secret Service to stop rogue mutants. We were lucky this time. God, Sebastian, what if that … what if he’d had more significant powers?” 

 

“We’ll discuss the details soon, Robert. We … I don’t want to upset Tessa any further.” Sebastian put his arm around her slender form and she leaned into him, in a way that suggested something more than a professional relationship. Not that Robert was particularly surprised- Sebastian was virtually never without some beautiful woman or another on his arm and the man had resolutely refused to marry, remaining a seemingly eternal bachelor. 

 

“Of course.” Robert nodded and sat back in the seat of the limousine-  _ my God, what am I going to tell Sharon? She’s probably seen all this already.  _ He fumbled in his suit pocket for his cell phone and quickly dialed home, hoping she was there. 

 

“Sharo-”

  
“Robert, oh my God, were you there, you were going to be-”

 

“I’m safe. I’m safe, Sharon. I’ll … I can’t say much more right now. They’ll probably be wanting to talk to me. The Secret Service took care of it …” 

 

“Was it a mutant, Robert?” 

 

“... I’ll tell you more a little later, okay?” 

 

“Oh my God, Robert …” 

 

It broke Robert’s heart to hear his wife sound like that on the phone, terrified, trying not to cry, her thoughts even more in a turmoil than his was. The rest of the conversation consisted basically of him trying to emphasize that he was all right and that he would come home as soon as he could.  _ She’s been a good wife and a wonderful mother to our children. Better, maybe, than I’ve deserved.  _

 

After they had both seen Tessa to the hotel, Robert and Sebastian found themselves in the hotel bar. It hadn’t taken the staff to realize that they might as well simply serve the two men a bottle. Robert couldn’t properly keep up with Sebastian, but then again, he didn’t really want to maintain any sense of sobriety. After all, a second or two off and he’d be a dead man. 

 

“Jesus Christ. We need Wideawake, Sebastian. You know, you know I’ve been skeptical in the past, but now? We need to stop this madness.” Robert downed his drink in a single gulp, feeling it burning down his throat. “How fast can you get Sentinels built?” 

 

“Quickly enough.” Sebastian replied. “We’re already nearly finished prototypes. Before the ink dries on the President’s signature, we can start live testing. And after that, mass production. With the MRA backing it up, we’ll be safe, Robert. We’ll actually be safe and be able to get the breathing room we need.” Sebastian bolted down his drink effortlessly. “We’ll get you the press you need. Frost, of course, but everywhere else too.” 

 

“What a mess.” Robert sighed and poured himself another drink. “And Tessa, my God. What an introduction to Washington.” 

 

Sebastian exhaled heavily and pushed his glass forward for Robert to fill, which he did. “She’s tougher than you might think.” 

 

“... so … are you two?” Kelly couldn’t help but ask, genuinely curious, but also desiring a change of topic. 

 

“Don’t you start.” Sebastian actually managed a grin, the first any of them had shown since the incident in Washington. “You’re going to be talking about me making an honest woman of her.” His smirk broadened a little. “Maybe she’s an accomplished liar and would rather stay that way.” 

 

“... okay, remind me never to play poker with her.” Robert actually took a sip of his drink this time, instead of bolting it. “Seriously, Sebastian, we need to make this happen. We really do. I need your help. Anything it takes. I don’t care if I have to sell my soul to the goddamned devil. We need the Mutant Registration Act. We need Wideawake.” 

 

“Robert …” Sebastian looked at him, as if mildly hurt. “Have I ever let you down before?” 

 

“No … of course not.” Robert admitted, replenishing his drink and raising it. “To progress. To making a better and safer world.” 

 

“I’ll drink to that.” Sebastian clinked his glass with Robert and then downed it. 

  
  



	30. The Clairvoyant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene receives a series of terrifying and overwhelming visions of potential futures. A gesture of compassion goes hideously wrong. 
> 
> Precognitive powers suck, y'all. 
> 
> I'd say 'spoiler alert', but it's not a spoiler alert if it's deliberate in the text, right?

**_People speak often of a sixth sense- in truth, there are several more than the typical five. The ability of psionics to perceive and transmit electrochemical signals directly is one. You appear to be able to sense phenomena taking place in different times and realities- you can literally see past the veil of perception._ **

 

**_But only in fleeting glimpses. Sometimes useful, sometimes maddening._ **

 

**_I can help you Irene, to give you the ability to peer past the veil to see the infinite possibilities beyond._ **

 

**_Let me open your third eye._ **

 

Irene Adler turned in bed, still asleep, fitfully remembering the pale-faced man who had stood over her so many years ago, the devil who had captured her, experimented on her, tormented her and finally ... 

 

**_In order to develop your second sight, I’m afraid a price will have to be paid._ **

 

**_Such lovely eyes too. But I’m afraid they’ll never see again._ **

 

She turned again as her dreams forced her to relive the moment of knowing, that moment of dread realization that she would never be able to see again. And Irene remembered the look on the devil’s face, that look of smug satisfaction, seasoned with sadism. He’d dulled the pain, but he hadn’t knocked her unconscious. He made her watch, watch as he stole her vision. The scalpel had been the last thing she’d ever seen. 

 

And then he’d let her go, let her stumble into a hospital where they’d tried to help her. But nothing could be done. The agony, the despair of losing her sight was only magnified by the almost instant flood of images and visions from her powers, which had indeed been sharpened as she lost her light-based vision. Irene had learned to predict the position of stairways and to know when to cross streets based on her visions, she’d learned to harness them well enough that she could shoot and rarely miss- she was a better shot than Raven was. 

 

Her powers had developed so much but she’d also lost so much. She’d never been able to see Marie, except in visions- nor had she seen Raven for so many years, though she knew that Raven at least looked much the same, her beauty virtually ageless. But it was painful not to be able to watch Marie grow up into a beautiful young woman, an alienation that was made even worse by the fact that it wasn’t safe to touch her.  _ I have never regretted it, though. Being able to raise her is one of the great joys of my life.  _

 

But right now all Irene remembered was the strange, ungodly pressure of having her eyes cut- and she cried out, sitting up in bed, covered in a cool sweat. She breathed in and out heavily, trying to blank the final image captured by her eyes, the most horrible memory of her life, trying to think of something, anything, that could center her again. She knew, though, without resort to any of her precognitive powers, that sleep would be futile for now.

 

Irene somewhat haltingly got up, annoyed at the ever-present aches in pains in bones and muscles that insisted in getting older with the rest of her. She reached for a housecoat and slipped it on, heading downstairs, wondering if anyone else was up at this hour- she imagined it was fairly likely, since the house was full of teenagers, but it was pretty likely that they were in their rooms. 

 

As Irene headed to the second floor where the kids mostly slept, her nose couldn’t help but wrinkle at a familiar stink- though she’d certainly smoked her share when she was younger. She knew Raven didn’t really care what the kids got up to, and honestly, neither did Irene- young people would simply do what they did. Marie seemed to have little interest in drugs or alcohol, though, which couldn’t help but relieve Irene a little.  _ That girl’s more mature than her Momma, that’s for sure.  _

 

She headed downstairs to the main floor, which seemed totally deserted- perhaps they really had decided to turn in a bit earlier than usual. Irene wouldn’t have minded some company, but none seemed at hand, so she went into the kitchen and started to make herself some tea- when a vision struck her- so strong that she actually had to brace herself against the table to remain standing as her brain lit itself on fire with images, thoughts and feelings- 

 

**_The Senator had tired of the corruption, of the gridlock, of the half-measures that had mired both parties and shut down Washington. Most of all, he was fired by a conviction that mutants needed to be controlled, once and for all- a flame that had been set ablaze by knowledge that he himself had been humiliated and controlled by mutant interests, made to dance like a puppet by a shadowy cabal of powerful mutant aristocrats._ **

 

**_She saw through the eyes of his memories and his thoughts and beheld them- the titanic King of War who could crush men like eggshells, who forged a colossal web of influence that held entire nations in thrall and his proteges, women as beautiful as they were ruthless, a spoiled, immature and conniving princess who casually raped people’s minds, a coldly effective, analytical woman who could turn reasons and facts into weapons, a woman who was a counsellor, a spy and an assassin, one and all._ **

 

**_Her mind’s eye drifted overseas to an island of cruelty and slavery where millions of mutants lived and died under the lash, breaking their bodies and their wills to create gigantic monuments, a huge dam in the interior, great fields in the plains, factories turning out the weapons of their own oppression. Irene saw that powerful island of domination, its great skyscrapers of steel and glass, she saw it just before the Emperor descended upon them._ **

 

**_The Emperor watched from above with cold blue eyes- or are they inhuman red and with gestures like the maestro at a classical concert, he brought down the monuments of oppression, he shattered and broke the weapons that held the slaves in thrall. And they hailed him as their Lord and Emperor, and some hailed him as a god. And the God-Emperor made Himself a throne and plotted dominion over the world._ **

 

**_His face shifts from image to image, sometimes a handsome man on the cusp of middle age, sometimes a ferocious demon birthed out of a nightmare of flesh and steel. But regardless, He is regarded as a God by the mutants._ **

 

Irene gripped the table a little harder as the vision slowly faded and she was left with the darkness that was her constant companion. She realized in a moment, just how hard she was actually breathing, how hard her heart was hammering. She felt a heaviness in the pit of her stomach.  _ The war really is coming. My God, the war is coming.  _ Irene made herself sit down, tried to remember the familiar exercises to calm herself, re-center herself after a particularly powerful and disturbing vision. 

 

Before Irene had a chance to do that, however, she was hit by another wave of images- 

 

**_The Senator had already had attempts on his life. But this assassin did not miss and his mind, riven as it was by the dualistic factors of bigotry and genuine love of his country was rent asunder and scattered over the floor, red blood, white bits of skull and a dark blue suit. And with the Senator, died the American dream._ **

 

**_The God-Emperor laughs._ **

 

**_Cold, unfeeling engines of murder and destruction loosed upon the country and soon afterwards, the world. Blood and fire, melted steel and cold corpses. A new holocaust, first against the mutants and then turned against humanity. A tall man who was really a machine watches. He does not smile but does not flinch._ **

 

**_The God-Emperor orders the survivors of the mutant race on a great holy war._ **

 

**_The final war between the machine-man and the Emperor is the end of the world- nobody wins. Not even the cockroaches. The bodies are now skeletons, the works of man first freezing in the nuclear winter and then decaying in time, mute testimonies of a civilization-which-was._ **

 

This time, Irene snapped back into reality with a scream, one that went on until she had no breath left. She felt cold, desperately cold and clutched herself tightly in an effort to retain some warmth, to forget what she had just seen. But all she saw was death and decay, the end of the world. Her visions always trended towards the portentous and the dire, but never before had she seen, so vividly as this, the end of civilization and the destruction of the entire human race. 

 

It was too much for her. Her shoulders began to shake as she began to cry, though no tears fell from her ruined eyes.  _ I don’t want to see this, not if there’s nothing I can do about it. Give me something, a sign, anything, something that I can do. Don’t make me see that we’re all doomed. Please. Anything.  _

 

“Miss Adler? Are you all right?” 

 

Her scream seemed to have brought attention- she couldn’t see the boys of course, but she recognized Dominic’s voice and knew that John was with him, and she could positively  _ feel  _ Raven and Marie pushing them aside. Raven went over to where she was and barked out orders at the boys. Hot tea. A warm blanket. Something to make her comfortable. Strong hands helped her out of her seat and over to a comfortable recliner. Irene couldn’t help but lean into Raven’s touch- so much had changed, but she knew Raven still cared for her. Still loved her in her way. 

 

Marie was next to her, a gloved hand holding hers, carefully, but surely. “Mom. Just relax, okay? It’s okay, you’re here. We’re here.” John obediently got a blanket for her- despite his usual prickly attitude, Irene knew he was worried. As for Dominic, despite everything, that young man was a real gentleman at heart. He’d even remember the way she liked her tea.  _ I’m not that old, heavens, but I’m probably the closest thing those boys have to a grandmother or an aunt.  _

 

Irene tried to focus on the sensory details around her, the feeling of her daughter’s hand, gloved though it was, the warmth of her favorite blanket, the gentle angle of the reclining chair, Raven hovering around her, smelling of gun oil and that horrid cheap raspberry vodka she liked. But she found that she couldn’t quite focus on those pleasant details- she felt earth tumbling over her own grave, she felt the howling winds of a nuclear winter, she heard the profound silence of the universal grave. 

 

The visions were coming on again. 

 

**_She’s a survivor, a woman who has loved and fought and lost so much. The world teeters on the brink of the end. Her last chance to save it consists of throwing herself through space and time, at the risk of annihilation of mind and soul. She will find herself in her own body, as a young girl._ **

 

**_Another girl is bound by ties of love and family, but she knows that she must turn her back on them, that she can’t stay with them. It is with tears in her eyes that she plunges down from the heavens, bent on making sure that a tyrant does not get to rise._ **

 

**_A third young woman struggles with the border between humanity and divinity, a goddess dwells inside her and it hungers. And will that goddess of light and fire be a saviour or a destroyer? When she spreads her wings, will the world shelter under it, or burn?_ **

 

**_Marie. Oh God._ **

 

“Boys … thank you, but I need to be alone with Raven and Marie for a short while.” They obediently left the room- they really were nicer boys at heart than she imagined most people gave them credit for. When they were gone, Irene gestured for them to come closer. 

 

“Was it something you saw, Mom?” Marie asked quietly, giving her hand a little squeeze and she suddenly saw an image of those same hands grasping onto someone else, sucking the life out of them, of the soul-searing agony of having someone else’s consciousness enter your own, of taking on the essential elements of someone else, of trying to hold onto oneself in the face of that. 

 

Irene nodded silently, not sure how much she wanted to share, how much she wanted to burden Marie- who already had to deal with so much, would have to deal with so much more. Or Raven- Raven who would always have comforting words for Irene, but whom Irene knew would probably not heed her advice. Raven had always followed her own star, and it was something that Irene had always loved and hated at the same time.  _ But this time, where will that take us? Will it be Raven that leads us to the end? Or will that be Erik?  _

 

“It was … terrible, but … I’m not quite sure what it all means.”  _ Why am I lying? Why can’t I bear to tell the truth? Am I that fucking proud? That I don’t want to not be believed, not want to be taken seriously?  _ “I need to think about it. Marie … my diary. Please?” Perhaps she could face them better after having written them down in her journal, like she had faithfully for so many years. 

 

“You need to rest, Mom. We’re here now, okay? Just rest. We’ll get some tea for you.” Irene could feel and smell tears pricking the corner of Marie’s eyes, her fears written on her face- plain as if she had her eyes. “Stay with us.” Marie squeezed her hand again. “With your family.” 

 

**_Children and barely-adults are fighting in the streets, in the steps of the capitol- terrifying and barely controlled abilities unleashed on each other. They could, should have been friends under different circumstances, but war is a cruel mistress and they are on opposing sides. And so the children fight and sometimes one of them dies. Their loved ones put them into the ground if they can and now their hatreds are more real._ **

 

**_And on the other side of the mirror, these same young people face the God-Emperor, in his demon guise, united with each other. But can human beings battle with powers and principalities? And then one of them casts aside their humanity, dies and is reborn as a goddess of life and fire that hurls itself against the God of Death. They destroy each other utterly._ **

 

**_The world is saved. But at what cost?_ **

 

_ Make it stop. It’s too much. Please, make it stop. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.  _

 

**_The war is coming._ **

 

**_It may already be here._ **

 

Half-drowned in a sea of disturbing, soul-searing visions, she didn’t realize that she was speaking out loud. She heard some shouting, and a cry and the infinitesimal sound of cloth slipping off of skin.  And then Irene felt a touch that was both warm and loving and cold as death on her cheek and she felt the images floating out of her mind, dissipating into the distance as they flowed into someone else. And by the time Irene realized what was happening and tried to stop her, it was too late. 

 

The last thing that Irene heard was a shrill shriek from her daughter as her agony, her burden burned inside of  _ her.  _

  
  



	31. Rogue III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue is virtually possessed by Destiny's precognitive powers and ends up encountering one of the Avengers.

**_Everyone’s dead._ **

 

**_Everyone is dead and it’s your fault, your fault because you weren’t strong enough. Look at their bodies, Rogue. Look in their cold dead eyes and try to justify yourself._ **

 

**_Look at your hands. Their blood is on them and no matter how hard you wash them, rub them, it will not go away._ **

 

Rogue felt like she was in the midst of an endless waking nightmare- one that had not ceased for even an instant since she had, in what she’d intended as a gesture of compassion, briefly touched her mother, to take away heir pain, to give her a spell of blessed unconsciousness.  _ Is this what she has to live with, every day?  _ Rogue couldn’t imagine mustering up the strength to go on- already Rogue felt she was near her limits and she’d only been seeing the visions for several minutes. 

 

The moment they came to her, she’d torn out of the house like a bat out of hell. Rogue knew that some of the others were looking for her, knew that they were probably worried about her, but she couldn’t handle being around them. Not even Momma, especially not Momma. So she’d ran as fast as she could and somehow she’d managed to elude them, flashes of the city layout helping her along her way. 

 

_ I gotta get uptown. Why? I just know that I have to.  _ Like a puppet on its strings, Rogue felt herself pulled uptown, towards the bustling centre of Manhattan, away from the modest brownstone which marked where her family and friends lived. Her eyes darted around nervously, trying very, very hard not to touch anyone or to attract attention. She still, however, noticed the stares of people around her. She felt a jolt as someone bumped into her, but thankfully, they didn’t even brush against her skin- she cast her eyes back as they travelled away from her. 

 

**_You’re not strong enough. You’re an empty slate waiting to be filled with power. The strength you need is close at hand._ **

 

_ Shut up, stop!  _

 

Rogue ducked into an alley for a moment, doing her best to ignore the stink of garbage from a nearby bin and stale piss from any number of drunks that had passed by. She slumped against the wall, closing her eyes, trying to banish the visions, which spoke to her in her mother’s voice, rattling about in her head with her own internal voice and the images.  _ I always knew that Mom was strong, but I never had any idea just how strong she was.  _

 

Rogue opened her eyes again, realizing that she probably looked like some sort of hopeless junkie and that if she didn’t keep moving, she’d start attracting attention, though as soon as she started walking again, she realized no one was really paying attention. People were mostly talking or texting on their phones or to each other, and few of them paid her any mind.  _ Just as well, though. I can’t really be talking to anyone.  _

 

Rogue passed by a video store and looked idly at the television screens, which was showing some sort of weird reality show by the looks of it. She found herself stopping and watching for a few minutes as the main person, a lanky, handsome blond man in either his late teens or early twenties was fighting off what looked like armed men. Her eyes narrowed a bit-  _ reality shows don’t usually get this intense, do they?  _ As he made his escape, the camera zoomed in and the hero winked at the camera- but what Rogue noticed were his hands, which had only four fingers on them.  _ Mutant?  _

 

A vision came on just then and she saw herself running with the strange man, hand clutched tightly in his as they were being chased by giant robots. The gigantic robots raised their hands and Rogue felt an instant of incredible heat and force. She started to scream, but then she snapped back to reality and it came out only as a disjointed little cry. She pulled back violently from the television set as it went to commercial, advertising the most recent Dazzler album. 

 

_ I can’t do this. I can’t. God, please, if you exist, just make this stop. Make it go away.  _

 

A part of her knew that it shouldn’t be lasting much longer, that the power transfer was only brief and that Rogue would soon be back to relative normal, but that time seemed impossibly distant. She closed her eyes again, trying to see anything else in her mind, whether it be reading books with Morty or having tea with Mom or watching as Momma trained with her weapons in the armory downstairs. No matter how hard she tried to imagine something, however, it was the ceaseless barrage of visions and voices that she received. 

 

**_Your mother’s not far. You can’t let her catch you now. Her life, your life and countless other lives depend on it._ **

 

Rogue ran and allowed the images in her mind to guide her, down an alleyway, through the front and back entrances of a clothing store and further uptown. Without consciously deciding to, she flipped over a garbage can, knowing that it would give her another precious second or two to- to what?  _ Why am I trying to escape my own mother? Why can’t they find me now?  _ None of it made any sense, but she knew, somehow, that it was vitally important for her to do so. 

It was soon after that that Rogue felt a much stronger thud and looked up to see several menacing looking young men. She put up her hands. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’ll watch where I’m going.” 

 

It was clear that the men weren’t buying it. One of them drew a knife- another one of them was carrying a baseball bat. “Not good enough. How about you get out your wallet and hand it over?” Another one of them snickered and said something else- she didn’t quite overhear it, but something about the way the man looked at her sent a chill down her spine.  _ Not that any man could really touch me anyway- they’d just get drained to a husk if they tried.  _

 

“I don’t have any money. Just leave me alone- y’all don’t know what you’re getting yourselves into.” Delaying here probably meant that Momma was getting closer- Momma could straighten out these guys quickly, but then she’d miss whatever her objective was. Whatever the vision was demanding she do. “Just let me go. Please, just let me go.” She tried to say that with as much authority as she could. 

 

“Oh, I don’t think you know what  _ you  _ got yourself into.” The apparent leader of the gang smirked coldly and moved closer to her. Rogue ducked away as quickly as she could before he made any sort of contact- the last thing she wanted was a man like that rattling around in her head. His grab was clumsy and she managed to elude it and start running flat uptown as fast as he could as they cursed and ran after her. 

 

_ I’m pretty fit, but there’s more of them and I can’t count on just outrunning them.  _

 

**_There’s people near here. Keep running, you’ll find them. A man and a woman. You need her powers._ **

 

A vision of a smouldering ruin where the White House should have been filled her mind, the broken bodies of several mutants lying around her as a man in crimson and purple robes levitated above them. With a movement like a maestro directing a symphony, the imperious figure gestured and massive slabs of steel rushed through the air to crush the White House completely. 

 

**_You don’t have the strength to stop him now._ **

 

Reality intruded on her as she felt a sudden pain in the back of her knees as the gangster with the bat connected with a swing, bringing her crashing to the ground. Rogue could feel her face grinding against the sidewalk in what seemed like slow motion- she tried to get up, but there was a weight on her almost instantly, a heavy boot pressing against her back, holding her down. 

 

“You coulda played nice. Give us something we wanted. Now you’re gonna pay for being such a stupid little bi-” 

 

The weight on her suddenly eased though as something incredibly and powerful slammed into the man, pushing him violently aside. Rogue managed to turn around and watch as a blonde woman made exceedingly short work of the men, who almost immediately scattered. She wiped at her face- she’d need to clean up very carefully when she got home and she’d be wearing those scratches for a long time. The mysterious woman who scattered the gangsters turned towards her and extended her hand down at her. 

 

“Are you okay? Not the greatest neighbourhood for walking around at all hours of the night.” The woman, an all-American blonde who looked like she belonged on a movie set somewhere, offered her hand to Rogue. Rogue was about to offer her the gloved hand or to get up herself, but then something triggered in her mind. Rogue knew exactly who this woman was-  **_Carol Danvers, she’s one of the Avengers-_ ** and that Rogue desperately needed the power she had. 

 

Rogue reached out with her ungloved hand and Carol, trusting, not suspecting the attack that was to come, reached out to take it. For an instant, half a second or maybe even less, it felt like nothing was happening and Rogue wondered if her powers even worked on her. However, that was put to rest immediately when she felt the familiar rush of thoughts and memories running through her. Carol screamed and tried to pull her hand away, but Rogue held on with all the strength she had, a strength that was increasing every instant. 

 

_ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I have to, please, forgive me.  _

 

Carol struggled for a long time, longer than anyone Rogue had ever touched, but then again, Rogue had never touched someone with as much power as she had- but her struggles became more and more futile and the screams and curses died down into whimpers. As Carol’s strength diminished and Rogue’s increased, her grip became increasingly viselike and Rogue knew that she wasn’t only draining her- she was  _ physically hurting Carol,  _ but she couldn’t let go. 

 

**_You need her power. You will hold on. As long as it takes._ **

 

Rogue tried to will herself to simply let go, but her hand remained clamped around Carol’s, until the woman was totally unconscious, a pale husk, and finally, Rogue’s grip was able to relax and a bruised and obviously broken hand slid to the ground. Rogue gasped in horror, at what she’d done, at the obvious violence, at the complete and total violation of this woman who had only tried to help her.  _ Oh my god, what I’ve done is evil, pure evil. What have I done to this poor woman? Oh my god, what if she’s dead?  _

 

Then she felt the voice screaming inside her head, alive and angry and Rogue screamed and clutched her head and somehow ended up shooting up hundreds of feet in the air. Rogue felt Carol Danvers inside her mind, screaming, raging, trying to tear out of her skull and back into reality. It felt like Carol was trying to destroy her,  _ her,  _ and Rogue couldn’t blame her but still, her mind, her self fought back. 

 

_ What have you done to me? What have you fucking done to me?!? _

 

_ I don’t know, I don’t know why, I had to, it made me, I had to- please stop, I’m sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.  _

 

Rogue soared further and further into the air, above the highest skyscrapers, into the clouds and then above them, her own psyche in a brutal, miserable struggle with the one that she’d absorbed wholesale. She screamed, a loud and shrill noise, screamed until she ran out of air and then, with gasping breaths, realized there wasn’t enough air to breathe at this high of an elevation. She felt the desperate pressure that came with suffocation, like her chest and head were about to explode.

 

And still, the voices warred inside her head, until the oxygen in the atmosphere was too thin for her to remain consciousness and, at long last, her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell back to Earth. The impact, which was sufficient to leave a five-foot deep crater in the ground, jolted Rogue back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open and although she felt horribly stiff and more than a little winded, nothing felt broken. 

 

_ If I just lie here, people will come for me, I just know it. Whether it’s Momma or the cops or the other Avengers, I don’t rightly know. What the hell have I done?  _

 

It had seemed so clear, so obvious when she’d been animated by the visions- but now that her mother’s precognitive abilities had faded, she was left with a deep-seated feeling of dread and horror.  _ I might’ve killed someone- did even worse in some ways.  _ A quiet voice of self-preservation was telling her that she should get up and move, but Rogue ignored it pointedly. 

 

_ Whoever gets here first gets me, I guess. I’m not gonna resist.  _

 

Rogue heard shouting and knew that people were gathering around her. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but when she heard her name, she knew it was Momma and the others. Rogue remained lying where she was, neither resisting or planning to particularly help. As it happened though, the earth raised around her in a great spear- Dom’s work, no doubt and she was face to face with Momma. 

 

“I’m sorry, Momma.” Rogue managed to say, the tears that didn’t come for Carol Danvers now flowing freely. “I’m so sorry, Momma.” She felt herself gathered up in Momma’s arms, held tight like she was a young girl again. “I just started seeing things and I couldn’t stop running and then-” Coherent words soon broke away into a torrent of desperate sobs. 

 

“You can explain what the fuck happened later, baby. What matters is that you’re safe right now. Let’s go home, Rogue. Come on, let’s go home.” Her Momma’s voice was so strong and yet, Rogue knew that Momma was almost as scared as she was. Momma just kept holding her tight and it was all that Rogue could do not to simply clutch at her madly- but what if she drained her too? And what if she hurt Momma with her newfound strength. Rogue forced herself to find her feet and start walking- though it was really more of a dazed shuffle, back home. 

 

_ What have I done? God help me, what have I done?  _

 

Rogue wrapped her arms around herself, looking hard at the ground and trying not to look anyone else in the eye as she walked home, terrified that somehow they’d know- that they’d judge her for it. And what about her mother? She’d know, somehow, even if Rogue didn’t tell her. 

 

_ I deserve whatever’s coming to me. I deserve all that and more.  _

  
  
  
  



	32. Bobby III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic makes a tonal shift, as we all take a breather from heavy stuff and check in on Bobby and Kitty. They want to have a date night! Scott's birthday is coming up! 
> 
> And they're still totally going to fight Erik.
> 
> Also, Homestuck gets namedropped.

There was a real tension in the air at the Mansion, and Bobby  _ hated  _ tension, because it made everyone all serious and then suddenly nobody cared about sweet pranks or witty puns. It didn’t make things any better that they were all being driven like dogs, between schoolwork that never seemed to  _ stop  _ and Scott’s insistence on training them all to the point of exhausted death. It was seriously annoying and more than anything, Bobby wanted a break. 

 

“I can’t believe the crazy things they’re saying on the news. Apparently there’s some like Mutant Brotherhood or Mutant Liberation Front that’s organizing terrorists cells in New York. First, they target the Avengers! Who’s next? And then … there’s the Senator Kelly thing. They’ll blame us all for what one person did.” Kitty sighed harshly as she looked up from a formidable-looking stack of books. While Bobby preferred avoidance, Kitty seemed to want to talk about these things- she probably wanted to go out and do something about it. Kitty Pryde- wasn’t much of an avoidance girl. 

 

“... can’t seem to catch a break, can we?” Bobby replied, because he disliked silence, even though he had nothing really intelligent to add to the conversation. He tried to look back down at his books and actually focus on them, but it was boring stuff like English literature and history. Math? Math he could handle, math had practical applications. Science, on the other hand, had cool experiments and sometimes even explosions. 

 

“Doesn’t look like it.” Kitty sighed and slumped down into her books. “Can we, like, tell Scott to ease up just a  _ little?  _ I’m exhausted and all muscles ache.” 

 

Bobby moved himself around and started rubbing her shoulders, hoping he wasn’t somehow making it worse- and hopefully she was in a mood for cold relief as opposed to hot packs because Bobby didn’t really do  _ warm.  _ “Scott’s … pretty intense.” Which was very intense indeed, because honestly, Kitty was a pretty intense girl. So if she was getting tired of it, then it wasn’t just Bobby after all- Scott needed to be talked to. Kitty squirmed a little and Bobby instinctively backed off. 

 

“Don’t. Stop.” Kitty almost growled at him and Bobby continued. “I just want the weekend off. Just two days where I can catch my breath and maybe go do something  _ fun.  _ You know, we haven’t actually gone on a proper date yet. Maybe we could go to a movie or something.” 

 

_ Oh shit. Movies and stuff means I gotta … get money or something. Or an income.  _ It was easy for people like Scott, who had a rich father who would literally give him anything he asked- he was pretty sure Scott could ask like a private jet liner and Charles would at least look into it. Kitty seemed not to really lack for anything either- her parents were sending care packages every week with tons of sweet stuff and suspicious envelopes with cash and cheques in them. Which probably meant that she had expectations about proper dates.  _ Maybe I can, like, ask about doing some work for money or something.  _

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft  _ boop  _ against his nose. “Theoretical date night’s on me. But you’re going to have to go shopping with me and help me carry stuff home.” 

 

“How do you know that’s what I was thinking about? Maybe I was thinking about- like, stuff on a TV show or a movie. Or video games. I think about video games a lot.” Bobby tried his best to sound slightly indignant, but then she grinned at him and he kinda melted. 

 

“You’re not exactly a mysterious guy, Robert Drake. Besides, it’s a sexist, patriarchal construct that guys always have to pay for dates. And I’m … I’m an only child of wealthy parents. Besides, you’re going to be carrying a  _ lot  _ of stuff. I haven’t been properly shopping in forever and a half.” Kitty laughed. “Don’t worry, Bobby, I’ll make you earn that burger and movie ticket.” 

 

“Shopping’s not bad … I mean, summer’s coming in like … less than a year, right? What I’m saying is, swimwear. You gotta think ahea-” His clever little pitch was interrupted by a pillow sailing into his face, and bless her, but Kitty Pryde wasn’t exactly known for giving love taps with pillows. She was a formidable and dangerous pillow fighter. 

 

“I need winter clothes, dumbbutt.” Kitty shook her head and sighed, before hitting him again. “Bad boy. Bad.” 

 

“Okay, okay! I get it! I tried! I tried and it didn’t work! You don’t have to hit me!” Bobby put his hands up in an exaggerated notion of surrender. “I can’t help it that my girlfriend is really, really good-looking and I think about her!” Kitty for her part looked like she was ready to hit him again, but she seemed to be hesitating. Actually, Bobby swore that she was blushing a little bit. 

 

“Fine. I’ll stop hitting you.” Kitty grinned and set down the pillow and kissed him, which was a really textbook case of mixed messages, but Bobby didn’t mind, because kissing was awesome. When they parted, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled up next to him. “Okay, concerns of date finance aside, I’d really, really like to be able to go out somewhere with you this weekend. Think that maybe we could convince Scott to give us at least a day off?” 

 

“I am … not exceptionally hopeful. But maybe we could? I mean, worth noting is that he’s totally got to take Jean out for a date at some point, right? I’m pretty sure there’s a contract in relationships where you gotta have a date night ever so often. If there isn’t let’s pretend like there is really, really believably and maybe he’ll fall for it.” Bobby knew that Scott was usually pretty wedded to his work, and since they were a part of his work, that they’d probably just have to deal. But aside from his desire to spend more time with Kitty, there was the fact that they were all getting tired. They probably really did need a recharge. 

 

“You know what, though? I just had a thought.” Kitty put up a finger, as if indicating for Bobby to wait and hear her out, not that he wasn’t going to. That was simply rude. And since Kitty was about a million times smarter than he was, it was usually a good idea to listen when she had thoughts. “This … thing that Scott has with Professor Lehnsherr. It isn’t actually a formal thing. We don’t actually have to do it. I mean, Scott’s … not really our boss? I mean, sure, let’s be nice and ask first but he doesn’t actually have any authority over us.” 

 

Bobby’s first thought was to protest and say that of  _ course  _ Scott was their boss, but the reality of the situation? He didn’t have any real authority. Scott tended to put himself in charge of team stuff because nobody else wanted anything to do with it. Still, the notion of actually  _ demanding  _ a thing from Scott Summers was crazy and more than a little scary. Bobby was pretty sure that he’d go down there and Scott would look at him from behind those intimidating but kickass red shades and Bobby’d just slink back where he belonged. 

 

“Seriously, though. He’s not going to bite your head off, Bobby. Let’s go find him and get our day off. He probably needs it too. If we’re tired, imagine how tired he is. I mean, I used to think  _ I  _ was a workaholic.” Kitty laughed, shaking her head, which made strands of curly brown hair bob about. 

 

“Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s go find Scott Summers and take our date night back.” Bobby got up off the bed with as much panache as he could muster. “We’re gonna do this Kitty. We’re gonna make this-” 

 

Kitty raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously quoting Homestuck at me, Drake? Is this the thing that is happening right now?” 

 

“Why yes, Miss Pryde I am. But now I know that you know what that is. Next thing you know, I’m gonna find out you have a whole trollsona thing going. It’s like a fursona, but with trolls.” Bobby grinned. “I’ve totally got a great idea for Halloween … next year. Or several.” 

 

“Whoa, hold up fanboy. Trollsona? It’s terrifying that you even have faculty with that word.” Kitty was laughing though, so Bobby surmised that she wasn’t being entirely sincere. “But fine, okay. We’re going to do this, Bobby. We’re going to make this  _ happen. _ We’re going to get all the days off.” 

 

“...” Bobby just realized something about himself and certain of his tastes right there and then. 

 

“... Bobby?” Kitty asked and he realized that he’d visibly stopped and that that pause hadn’t just been in his head. Bobby shook his head a little and tried to get back into the game. She was probably wondering what he was thinking or why he’d suddenly blasted off to some other planet. 

 

“I really, really,  _ really  _ love it when you talk nerdy.” Bobby replied, bobbing his head to emphasize the point. “Like, wow, let’s discuss fandoms more often, because, wow.” 

 

“Cool your jets, Mr. Drake. Business first. We’ve got a certain bespectacled hardass to convince first.” Kitty grinned at him broadly, though, and looped her arms around his neck. “I will keep that preference in mind, though. Definitely.” She kissed him again. “For luck.” 

 

“Star Wars? Oh my god, how did I win the girlfriend lottery?” Bobby couldn’t help but grin, but then tried to put on his best serious game face. “Okay. Let’s do this.” 

 

“Let’s make this happen.” Kitty nodded authoritatively and went to his side, slipping her hand in his. And hand in hand, they went down the stairs, looking for Scott- Bobby figured he’d most likely either be in the gym or maybe in the garage. Bobby knew Scott wasn’t in his room because he couldn’t hear any of Scott’s music. It’d got to the point where Bobby  _ himself  _ pretty much knew every Foo Fighters or Pearl Jam song that existed. 

 

A cursory inspection of the gym didn’t reveal any fruit- Scott wasn’t there, so the next step was to go into the garage, which was truly Scott’s domain as far as Bobby was concerned. Sure, most of the adults had their own vehicles, but none of them spent remotely the amount of time that Scott did in there. Then again, Bobby thought, if he was give a Porsche for  _ his  _ sixteenth birthday, he’d probably spent more time in the garage too. 

 

As they stepped into the garage, there was the man himself, working on the engine of his car with all the delicate care and determination of a neurosurgeon removing a brain tumour. Of course, Bobby would never, ever dream of messing with a car engine from a car remotely that valuable- a car that cost more than Bobby’s family’s  _ house  _ did back home, he was pretty sure, or nearly as much anyway.

 

“Hey Bobby. Kitty.” Scott said without looking up from the engine of the car, which he was probably modifying to go even more ridiculously fast than would ever be allowed on any road in existence. Bobby kind of wondered what the whole point was really, the speed limit didn’t magically change after all, just because you had a really awesome German-engineered car. 

 

“Scott- Bobby and I have been talking-” And Bobby realized that Kitty was going right into it that she was going to jump right into it without any feeling-out or half-measures. She was just going to go for it and get what she wanted. It was actually kind of impressive, though it made Bobby pretty nervous. Assertiveness made Bobby nervous. “And can we have Saturday off from training for the team thing? We’re exhausted, Scott.” 

 

“Okay.” Scott replied, again not even looking up from the engine of his car. Bobby, for his part, couldn’t actually believe it’d been so easy. In fact, it was almost deflating. Bobby had just psyched himself up to wage this conflict and then Kitty had simply gone and asked him and Scott had folded like bath towels on laundry day. Bobby was honestly disappointed. 

 

“Well … cool. Um, thanks, Scott!” Kitty smiled at him. “Bobby was worried that you’d be upset if we asked you …” 

 

“A good general knows when his troops need a little R&R. Training on Sunday, though.” Scott actually pulled himself away slightly from his engine to look at them. “And actually? Thank you. For going along with this. It’s … I don’t actually have evidence of this, but I think it’s really, really important that we learn to work together as a team. Maybe it’s just so that as things keep changing so quickly, we’re all on the same page. Or maybe … or maybe we’ll actually have to go out there sometime.” He wiped his hands on a cloth and couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Jean beat you guys to the punch anyway. She’s … pretty persuasive. Besides, it’s actually, you know, my birthday.” 

 

_ Oh my god, it’s Scott’s birthday. Holy crap. What kind of awful friend am I that I just forgot that?  _

 

“... that’s the big eighteen for you, isn’t it?” Kitty grinned. “Got any big plans for it?” 

 

“Going out with Jean for supper and dancing.” Scott shrugged. “I’ll probably go out with Dad on Friday night.” 

“Sounds great- but if I were you, I’d totally be prepared for some surprise parties.” Kitty smiled at him. “I haven’t heard of any yet, but you never know. You could be walking into the kitchen to make yourself a pot of coffee and- bam- there’s everyone with banners and noisemakers and a big cake.” 

 

“I guess it’s a possibility.” Scott shrugged. “I’m not a huge party guy, though.” 

 

“What the hell, Scott?” Bobby finally cut in, not able to stand for that ridiculousness any longer. “You can’t not be a party guy, that makes no sense!” 

 

Scott smiled slightly at that. “You do you, Bobby. I’ll see you two at dinner. And for training after that. It’ll be a real doozy. I’ve been programming Professor Lehnsherr into the computers as best I can.” 

 

_ So what you’re saying is, we’re probably not even going to make it to Saturday.  _ If he was sometimes a little intimidated by Scott, Professor Lehnsherr was on a totally different level of terrifying. The idea of actually pitting himself against the guy in even mock combat was scary as all hell. Sure, Jean and Wanda were both super powerful and even he had some pretty cool tricks up his sleeve, but Professor Lehnsherr was crazy powerful. He was so powerful that even his children had cool superpowers- how could they not be mutants when their dad was  _ such  _ a mutant? 

 

“Sounds like fun, Scott.” Kitty grinned at him. “Come on, Bobby, let’s let the poor man work. We’ll see you at dinner, Scott.” 

 

“Yep. Training’s at seven thirty.” Scott then went back to his engine and continued to tinker with it. 

 

Bobby walked back into the main part of the Mansion with Kitty. “So … we’re totally screwed. You know that, right? I mean, Professor Lehnsherr …”

 

“Is a person.” Kitty replied firmly. “Like any person, he makes mistakes and isn’t perfect and can be beaten no matter how cool his powers are.” 

 

“... I guess that’s true.”  _ You haven’t really seen his powers, though, Kitty, they’re pretty cool indeed. And that’s coming from a dude who literally makes ice for his powers.  _ He hated to say it, but he really thought that Kitty and Scott were being a bit overconfident about things. Bobby fully expected they’d lose, and lose badly. But he was a gentleman and wouldn’t say “I told you so”. At least not to Kitty. 

 

He might not be able to resist the temptation with Scott. 

  
  
  
  



	33. Kurt III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Wanda talk again. Feels are had and exchanged.

It felt more than a little odd to be out and about fully after some weeks largely spent in the sub basements. Kurt had been used to a life of relative seclusion- only really circulating freely in the tents and trailers of the circus, avoiding the public save for brief appearances in character. The people at the circus he’d known for his whole life, many of them babysat him when his mother and father were away. Others had been his friends growing up, had been his teachers, teaching him about the art of acrobatics and whatever schooling they could manage. 

 

Kurt still wasn’t entirely comfortable in the Institute- it wasn’t that people were unkind, they seemed to be getting used to him. A few people had explicitly apologized to him, others had simply been friendlier around him. It seemed that Dr. McCoy was right, though there were still those that seemed uncomfortable around him, Kitty in particular.  _ It really hasn’t been that long, though. I have to keep that in mind.  _ Even if Kurt could understand it, though, and readily forgive, it still hurt.  _ I did not choose this.  _

 

Kurt’s eyes drifted towards the wristwatch-like device on his wrist- the image inducer that he’d been given by the Professor, one that could change his appearance to that of a normal human at any time. He’d been experimenting with it under Dr. McCoy’s watchful eye and together they’d come up with a satisfactory image to use when he wanted to leave Institute grounds. It wasn’t perfect of course- anyone who touched him would still feel velvety fur rather than smooth skin, and dealing with his tail was eternally frustrating. 

 

Kurt had to fight several of his natural urges to fit in as well- he tended to slouch more than was normal and his gut instincts always told him to drop to all fours to run rather than to run upright- on all fours, Kurt could easily clear 30 miles an hour, faster than even the greatest Olympic athletes and sustain it for far longer. It was hard remembering that he shouldn’t be using his feet, that he shouldn’t be able to run up walls and use his tail to swing from place to place. It was a huge gift and a blessing and he was thankful for it, but he wasn’t prepared for quite how much of himself he had to give up. 

 

The Professor and Dr. McCoy had told him he was only supposed to use the image inducer off Institute grounds and Kurt fully intended to follow their directions, but occasionally he couldn’t help but turn it on and look at himself. It’d been an interesting process, deciding the face to use- certainly, most of his features were broadly the same, but he’d had to surmise things like skin tone and hair colour. In the end, he’d decided to look as much like his adoptive parents as he could- darker than probably most people would’ve expected a ‘German’ to appear. 

 

_ Then again, a lot of people in Germany never really considered us German. We were Sinte, Roma, Gypsies to them.  _ As were most of the people at the circus- Amanda had stood out in that group with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Kurt sighed audibly, thinking about her.  _ I wonder how she is- I haven’t really heard much of her. No doubt she’s moved on.  _ Kurt was under no particular illusions about their relationship, it was about fun more than anything else- the American phrase ‘friends with benefits’ seemed to describe it pretty well. But at the same time, she’d accepted him for who he was, even relished it. 

 

Kurt looked back at his own image through his phone for a long moment- it really was incredibly convincing, but at the same time, he found that he couldn’t quite accept that face as his own.  _ I used to think that I’d so gladly switch faces if I could, look more like my mother and father. Like my brother.  _ His features, though, weren’t the same as theirs were- he’d known that he was adopted since he was very small, but his mother and father, they’d known little about his birth parents. They’d said that his mother was a German woman and beautiful- and that she was being hunted.  _ I wonder if she eluded them in the end. I would like to meet her if she was still alive.  _

 

_ And here I am, thinking about everything except why I’m even here.  _

 

With reluctance, Kurt flipped open his math textbook and notebooks and tried to make sense of what was inside of them. When he’d been admitted into the Xavier Institute, they’d given him a series of tests to assess where he was, academically and what they’d found had been more than a little sobering. Proudly, he was near appropriate grade level in reading, even in English and save for occasional reference to dictionaries, he was doing fine there. Things like US History could simply be taught and Kurt had a good memory for history, particularly of tales of struggle and gallantry. It was easy to imagine the flash of sabers and the smell of gunpowder on a battlefield or on the high seas. 

 

Kurt’s skills in math and science, though, were poor and in the former, especially abysmal. He’d had very little math instruction in his time in the circus, mostly surrounded by uneducated people. The fire-eater in the circus had served unofficially as the accountant for the group and he’d shown Kurt a few things about basic sums, addition, subtraction, work with money. But anything more sophisticated or abstract than that- Kurt had no experience with and frankly, it made his head hurt. 

 

“You look like you want to burn that book.” He looked up to see Wanda settling down across from him with her own books- which looked like they contained far more sophisticated math, and a cup of hot tea. “I’m going to use my amazing powers to suppose that you don’t like math class very much. Also, interesting new look.” She gave him a fairly significant glance, her eyebrow raised. 

 

“Oh, ah …” Kurt realized he’d left it on for longer than he should have and pressed the button to deactivate the image inducer, leaving him in his familiar blue furry form.  _ I have to be careful with that, I don’t want to get into trouble for having it on when I’m in the Institute. I’m not supposed to.  _ “It’s something the Professor gave me, so I could go out into public if need be.” 

 

“You shouldn’t have to.” Wanda replied with a tinge of real vehemence and Kurt couldn’t for a moment doubt her sincerity. “It’s the twenty-first century, we should have been over that bullshit decades ago.” There was a flash in her green eyes that couldn’t help but remind Kurt of her father. 

 

“Perhaps not, but … that is not the world we live in. And it isn’t just about me. Other people could get hurt if I create a disturbance as well.” Kurt suddenly felt a little ashamed of himself. He knew, very well, that most mutants with visible mutations didn’t have the luxury of a safe space, let alone the ability to receive technology to hide their appearance as needed.  _ I have no right to see myself as cursed when I’ve had so many blessings.  _

 

“No, it’s all right. I get it, I do understand.” Kurt wasn’t entirely sure of that, though- Wanda had always struck him as someone who was very proud of being a mutant and who might not take kindly to someone wanting or needing to fit in. Also, she couldn’t quite seem to look him in the eye and say that, and he’d learned long ago that Wanda pretty much spoke straight from the gut. Her gaze returned to him though. “For what it’s worth, though, I much prefer the fuzzy look on you.” Red, red lips curved upwards into a grin. 

 

Kurt couldn’t help but smile a little bit at that. “Well, in that case, I was planning to shave, but perhaps not now? I mean, if you like the fuzzy look so much … I don’t like to disappoint ladies.” His faint smile became a prominent toothy grin. 

 

“Ugh, that’d probably leave the most godawful mess too. Blue fuzz everywhere.” Wanda rolled her eyes slightly, though she was smiling. “Besides, that’d be quite a job. Who’d do your back? Bobby? Scott? Or would you rope one of us girls to do it?” 

 

“I was a circus acrobat- I assure you, I can reach everywhere quite easily.” Kurt chuckled softly. “Even if I couldn’t with my hands, I can use my feet, or indeed, my tail. But of course, it is moot. You seem to like me better fuzzy, so fuzzy I shall be.” 

 

“It’s not really my opinion that should matter, Kurt.” Wanda replied, with a sudden seriousness, and a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It’s nice to joke and to flirt, but I really, really hope that you can feel comfortable in your own skin.” Kurt couldn’t help but wonder if she knew that feeling better than he would have thought. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to reach out to her, comfort her somehow. His hand brushed her arm softly, just a whisper of contact, of sympathy. He was ready to apologize if she pulled away, but she didn’t. 

 

“It is who I am, and that will not change. I have my good days and my bad.” Kurt admitted- today hadn’t been the best or the worst of them by the long shot. He took a deep breath and looked at her for a long moment. Normally so proud and virtually invulnerable, Wanda seemed strangely vulnerable in that moment. “And you, Wanda? How are you doing? Is everything all right?” Maybe it wasn’t really appropriate for him to ask and he half-expected to be told to fuck off and he wouldn’t be upset at her if she did. 

 

“Honestly? I’ve been better. A lot of shitty things have happened at the same time and it’s been tough to deal with them.” She withdrew her arm from him a little and looked away for a moment. “But I’m … I’ll be fine. You’ve had to deal with much worse things than me.” Wanda went quiet, as if she were collecting her thoughts, trying to find words. “But … thank you for asking. I’m sorry I can’t lie and tell you things are great, because look around us- they’re terrible. But thank you for asking. Nobody does that- actually asks how you’re doing and means it. Everyone just wants to hear that you’re fine, that everything is great.” 

 

Kurt closed his books, and deciding to damn the torpedoes, reached out for her hand, surprisingly small and delicate inside his, oversized as they were. “Don’t feel ashamed on my behalf. We all have our crosses- our burdens to carry. Just because one person might have sixty pounds of one thing on their back, and another person has fifty-seven of something else, doesn’t mean that burden isn’t real. It is. I … I know we don’t know each other that well, but talking about our troubles makes them lighter sometimes. And I’m here- to help if I can, to listen. If you want.” 

 

“I don’t carry crosses, I’m Jewish.” Wanda laughed a little sadly. “Well, kind of Jewish.” 

 

“I don’t recommend them. They’re heavy, awkward and terribly splintery.” He hoped that God would forgive the joke. Kurt knew that once upon a time, that figure of speech had been horribly, painfully literal. He might have to add that one to his confessions the next time he was able to go to church, but surely it meant something that she laughed. 

 

“Trust me, there’s enough guilt in Judaism. I don’t need to add Catholicism to that. Not that religion’s ever been a huge problem for me, really. I kind of go back and forth on going to synagogue, but I’ve always liked it better than I didn’t.” Wanda looked down at where their hands were linked and pulled away, though the motion felt notably reluctant to him. “Kurt …” 

 

“I’m sorry.” Kurt withdrew his hand entirely. “I didn’t mean anything untoward.” He couldn’t say that he meant nothing by it, of course he did- how insulting would it be to her to say such a thing? But it was probably far too forward. They hadn’t known each other long, had only had a few real conversations. And certainly, they’d flirted a little with each other but that didn’t mean he had the right to reach out and touch her like that. 

 

“Don’t apologize.” Wanda said firmly, eyes going down to the hand he’d just held for a moment before returning to meet his own. “I should be apologizing.” She took a breath, her eyes not leaving his own. “You probably don’t want to get too close to me. I’m a mess and you deserve better than to be drowned in the vast ocean of my issues.” 

 

“I can swim.” Kurt replied softly. 

 

“Of course you’d say that.” Wanda laughed slightly, but it was one that was more than slightly tinged with sadness. “How movie-romance perfect.” 

  
“All the world’s a stage.” Kurt countered. “Just because it’s a little cheesy, does it make it bad? And I meant it, Wanda. Everybody has their burdens and no one should face them alone.” 

 

“And now you’re quoting Shakespeare. Be still my beating heart.” Wanda laughed again and clutched her heart in a faux-dramatic gesture, before her expression turned grave again. “Seriously, Kurt. I’m trying to warn you about how incredibly fucked up I am and how you should be running the fuck away from me and you’re just making yourself more and more charming.” 

 

“I’m fucked up too.” Kurt replied. The curse word felt strange on his tongue though- he hardly ever cursed, in German or in English. Right now, though, it felt important, to be honest, even a little blunt, to make sure Wanda knew that she wasn’t alone, didn’t have to be. 

 

“You’re awkward as fuck when you swear.” Wanda observed with real amusement- she was clearly not particularly bothered about profanity. She reached out this time to brush her hand against his arm. “Kurt. You need to find someone who’s not permanently halfway to actual insanity, someone who can give you their whole heart, who doesn’t have eight million issues with basic human intimacy. To be friends, or whatever else.” 

 

“I don’t swear much. Mother and Father hate it.” Kurt paused for a moment as she continued to speak. “I think you give yourself too little credit. I would be delighted and honoured to be your friend. If you want me to go away, truly, I will. But I’m here if you want me around.” 

 

“What about whatever else?” Wanda asked softly. 

 

“If whatever else happens, it happens.” Kurt replied just as softly as she asked. He suddenly remembered something, though, and reached into his pockets. “Since you … like Shakespeare, though, perhaps- maybe what the doctor ordered for both of us is some time out.” He held up two tickets for the play. “If you’d like to, of course. The show’s a week from now.” 

 

“I think … I think I’d like that very much.” Wanda replied. “I think the good doctor is certainly onto something there.” She smiled faintly. “Then, Ser Fuzzy, it’s a date.” Her smile faded a little bit for a moment. “I suppose you’ll have to have that holographic thing on when we go.” 

 

“I will, yes.” Kurt replied. There was no point lying about it, even if it clearly wasn’t something she wanted to hear. 

 

“Keep it off as long as you can, and … as soon as you can, turn it off? I like  _ you,  _ not some holographic image that exists only to cover yourself up.” Wanda leaned over and kissed his cheek again and Kurt wondered if the slight blush was at all visible under the dark blue fur. 

 

“I will endeavour to do as milady commands.” Kurt actually got up so he could bow appropriately. 

 

“I’m certain you will, good knight.” Wanda’s eye looked over at Kurt’s math books. “In the meantime, though, would you like some help with that? I know math can be a real bitch.” 

 

Kurt had, in truth, nearly forgotten that he’d come here to study math. Wanda got up from her seat across from him and moved next to him, taking out some papers and writing numbers and formulas with an easy grace. It was fascinating for him to watch her read the arcane script on the page. It was obvious that she took a real pleasure in them, that the numbers sang to her somehow. The way she held a pencil and wrote in a fluid script, the way her eyes moved across a page, it was all breathtakingly beautiful. 

 

“It’s best to think of math as a language. You’ve mastered two already- what’s one more?” Wanda looked over at him for a moment. “Earth to Kurt.” She reached out and booped his nose with the end of the pencil.

 

“A language?” Kurt seemed a little uncertain about that as he tried to look back at the formulas and equations on the page, rather than her. “I suppose that makes sense.” He settled down to do his best to learn the mysterious language of mathematics. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	34. Piotr III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piotr meets up with Betsy at her place. 
> 
> Portraiture is a subject, as is the Hellfire Club.

It was fair to say that Piotr didn’t really know what to expect as he was ushered into the building by the doorman- whether this would end up being largely about business, that was, Betsy’s apparent ability to help him and his family escape the clutches of the Hellfire Club, or about pleasure- his sketching a portrait of her and whatever else she had in mind. He wasn’t certain about whether it would have been appropriate or not to buy flowers and, sadly, as this was America, he couldn’t even legally buy a bottle of wine- he was a year and a half away from that. Or what else he should bring along- he didn’t want to be overly presumptuous about what seemed to be a very open-ended offer. 

 

One thing he had brought along with him was his art supplies, canvas, paints- she’d said she was looking to have a portrait of her done and Piotr would be lying to himself if he wasn’t eager about the possibility. He knew that many men would consider such a thing only a poor preliminary to the possibility of sex, but sex, wonderful as it was, was a transitory experience. A good painting could last centuries. He’d seen four, five-hundred year old paintings in the Hermitage in St. Petersburg once that had taken his breath away. 

 

In the end, he’d decided to go out and get the flowers. It was difficult knowing what precisely Betsy was looking for, but if it was romance, well, he wasn’t going to decline that. Much as his hands itched to draw and paint her, they also wanted to touch her.  _ I’ve got to be careful, though, what I think. She’s a telepath. And possibly my only chance to help my family.  _ The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she considered his services, whichever ones she intended as some sort of payment. The thought of essentially prostituting himself rankled a little, but the fact was, that if he could actually ensure the safety of Illyana and his mother, he didn’t care. 

 

On the elevator ride on the way up, he tried his best to clear his mind, not knowing precisely what kind of range she had. He also felt a little ashamed of his thoughts, between his desire and a possibly completely false reading of her motivations. In truth, he really knew nothing about her motivations whatsoever.  _ It could be a trap. I suppose I’m pretty stupid not to have thought that. But here I am anyway. And even if it was a trap, I’m not easy prey.  _ It was too late for second thoughts. He was already coming out of the elevator, down a grand hallway to her room. He shuffled his art supplies around in his bag and straightened his tie as he knocked on the door. 

 

About thirty seconds later, he heard the vague mechanical sounds of a lock opening- a fairly advanced model by all indications, and the door slowly open to reveal Betsy, who was stunning, in a fairly simple but immaculately cut black dress, fairly modest at the neckline, but with a slit cut up right to the hip, showing off flawless legs. Piotr tried his best not to simply awkwardly stare at her and presented her with the flowers, which compared to her, were infinitely poor things. 

 

“Hello.” He managed to say, finding it more than slightly difficult to remain in command of any language, let alone English. “I … you look amazing. Incredible.” He pushed the bouquet in her general direction.  _ I’m glad I decided to wear a suit, but I must look like a peasant compared to the men she’s likely dated in the past.  _

 

“Why thank you, darling.” Betsy replied in her immaculate accent which brought up visions of gigantic country manors to Piotr. He wouldn’t be terribly surprised if there was someone with some manner of title in her lineage. She tilted her head and smiled faintly, amused. “You can come in, you know. I did invite you here.” 

 

“Yes, of course.” Piotr managed to reply as he walked into what surely was the grandest apartment he’d ever seen- it made his head dizzy to imagine what the rent must have been, particularly considering as it was located in the heart of Manhattan. He would suppose hundreds of thousands a month in rent, but that might not have been accurate. It could have been millions. 

 

“It was lovely of you to bring flowers.” Betsy moved, seemingly almost gliding towards the kitchen, where she got a vase to put them in. “It may have been presumptuous of me, but as it happens, I bought us some champagne. Care for a glass?” 

 

Now that she mentioned it, his throat was parched and Piotr figured that a drink or two couldn’t hurt for whatever was going to happen. “Yes, please. Thank you.” Even though his brain was somewhere between insanely overstimulated and on the verge of shutting down entirely, he didn’t completely forget his manners. It was almost strange to watch her open the bottle and pour drinks herself- he didn’t know why, but it felt like she should probably have servants or something that did that for her.

 

Emma would have probably simply ordered him to open it for her and pour the drinks, and if he were lucky, she’d allow him to pour himself a glass. She loved nothing more than to lord herself over her servants and to play the part of the imperious queen. But Piotr had also seen her lily-white and struggling not to shake with terror at the thought of telling Sebastian some sort of unwelcome news, at her ridiculous, high-school gossip snarking about Sebastian’s other woman, Tessa- who usually just studiously ignored her. 

 

“Heavens, Piotr, you’re not going to stand there and think about  _ Emma,  _ are you? Such poor taste.” Betsy smirked as she passed him the glass. “Think about the woman you’re with, darling.” 

 

“... but very carefully, yes?” Piotr didn’t know what possessed him to try a joke, but he figured that Betsy wasn’t like Emma. She wouldn’t castigate or somehow mentally manipulate him for showing something other than complete reverence for him. He did have to be careful, though. Or he’d start imagining what she looked like underneath that sleek, tightly-fitting dress. 

 

“I don’t shock easily, love.” Betsy replied with a broad grin. “A sweet innocent boy like you?” 

 

“I’m not that innocent.” Piotr replied and it would have been moronic if he’d simply been talking about the sexual experience he did or didn’t have, but it was about something a lot more important. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of. He’d hurt people. He didn’t think he’d killed anyone- he was pretty sure of that, but he knew it would have been only a matter of time.  _ May still be a matter of time.  _

 

“You are, darling. An innocent young man who’s found himself in a nest of vipers. If the Hellfire Club were simply about kinky fun, love, I’d be happy to let them corrupt you. I might even participate in it.” She grinned a little saucily and then almost immediately, all teasing, all humour left her voice. “But they’re not. They’re sadists and monsters and murderers.” 

 

Piotr suddenly, absurdly, felt protective of Betsy in that moment- of a woman who could obviously take care of herself and who seemed infinitely more worldly-wise than he was, for all he’d seen and done. He realized then that he really wasn’t a whole lot more than a poor farmboy who’d belatedly moved to the city only to find the danger and corruption lurking under the shiny glass and steel exterior. His brother’s taunts roiled about in his mind.  _ Mikhail would have loved the Club.  _

 

That, perhaps, was the most searing indictment that Piotr could possibly give the Hellfire Club as an organization. And he had got his family involved in their orbit. 

 

Betsy reached up to put her free hand on his arm. “They’re going to be fine. Tomorrow, we’re going to get them and take them, and you, somewhere they won’t follow. I would have told you earlier, but I couldn’t say anything and have you be anywhere near that overgrown Mean Girl Emma Frost.” 

 

“Who are these people?” Piotr couldn’t think of anyone who could defy the Hellfire Club and not suffer for it- unless he was being sent, perhaps, into some sort of government facility. 

 

“Oh, darling, I work for a few different people- but these friends are not far from here. There’s a man there who helped me a great deal with my powers started to emerge. Someone who I owe a great deal to and help when I can. A good man who provides sanctuary to any number of young mutants. You’ve heard of the Xavier Institute, yes?” 

 

“Yes. A school for mutants.” Piotr raised an eyebrow. “I do not need school and I control my powers well enough.” 

 

“But you do need protection and, perhaps, an environment in which you could actually do some good. You think you’re keeping your thoughts hidden, but I know that you’re desperate for a fresh start.” Betsy looked at him unflinchingly. “And as much as I think it would be desperately amusing to steal you from under Emma’s plastic nose and parade you about, I think you need a change in circumstances. And truthfully, so do I. I’m going with you- for a spell, at least. Until Sebastian dearest has gone back to thinking this whole thing was an amusing little charade and that if he makes a great show of forgiveness, that I’ll finally fuck him.” 

 

“Sebastian does not forgive anyone.” The man could bury his rage when he needed, but Piotr knew that violence was never far from the surface, that he was almost constantly angry at the world. It was probably safe to say that Piotr had never met a more dangerous man in his life. It boggled belief that Betsy would risk herself on his behalf, or indeed, at all. It seemed like madness. 

 

“No, but he can’t just have me killed. My father controls the London branch of the Hellfire Club. It’d be a desperate scandal.” Betsy countered. “The Xavier Institute is the safest place from the Hellfire Club anywhere near here. And it’s more critical than you know, Piotr. I found something out last night. Your sister is a mutant, and the Club knows it.” 

 

Piotr remembered that Emma had told him that little fact and suddenly, he realized, that there was a very real chance that Sebastian had never been primarily interested in him.  _ They wanted her too, perhaps even more than me.  _ “... how can we be sure they aren’t moving in right now? I shouldn’t be here … I should be keeping them safe until tomorrow.” The idea of sitting around and doing whatever with Betsy with even the tiniest possibility that his family was in danger was unbearable. 

 

“You suddenly going to see them at this hour of the night would only confirm their suspicions that something is up.” Betsy replied. “Nothing is going to happen to them tonight, and tomorrow, we’re going to make sure they’re safe. I promise you they will be safe until then. The Club has suspicions but no immediate plans.” 

 

“... what then?” Piotr sighed, not wanting to seem overly aggressive or ungrateful to someone that appeared to be investing a great deal in helping him. But at the same time, he couldn’t possibly imagine doing something ridiculous like sleeping with the prospect of leaving the Hellfire Club. 

 

“Well, you’ve got a glass of champagne from a $2500 bottle in your hand and a bag full of art supplies. I’d say that’d make a good start for an evening, wouldn’t you?” Betsy took a sip of her drink and smiled slightly. “I’ve got a friend keeping an eye on your people. If worse comes to worse, we’ll keep them safe.” 

 

Piotr took a sip of the drink- he had to admit he couldn’t particularly taste the difference between this champagne and any other he’d had in the past. His palate, such as it was, was more used to vodka than wine of any sort anyway. It was good enough, but he wanted it to burn a little. The mild fizz of the champagne wasn’t enough. 

 

He was being ungrateful and he hated himself for it. He was being pouty and annoyed around a beautiful woman who was clearly interested in him and he hated himself for that too. He finished the champagne. It was pretty good, he supposed.  _ Many men would kill to be where I am right now.  _ And Piotr knew that, if he didn’t find some means to distract himself, it was going to be a long night indeed. 

 

“I’ve got an idea, Piotr. We make ourselves comfortable, finish this bottle of champagne and you get out your art supplies and do your sketch. And then … well, we see where things go.” It was difficult, no matter how harsh Piotr might have been on himself, not to view that as a pretty open invitation. 

 

“If I am drunk, though, I will not draw so well.” If he were drunk, he wouldn’t be able to even attempt to navigate the line between the artist’s objectivity and the man’s desire and he’d end up drawing pornography, rather than art. Many people might not know the difference seeing it, but he would. Hers was a beauty that deserved to be captured properly. “I’d … I’d like to sketch you as soon as possible.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”

 

“Such manners.” Betsy replied with a soft smile. “You really do care a great deal about your art, don’t you?” 

 

“I do.” Piotr replied honestly.

 

“Why, if I may ask?” She seemed honestly interested, maybe just a tiny touch surprised. Piotr was sure that any number of people had captured her form in one way or the other, photographers, painters- but perhaps they’d been more interested in selling a product or getting her naked. Not that he’d lie and say that he had no interest in that, because frankly, he did. 

 

“It is hard for me to put into words, but … my abilities are destructive. I become good at ruining things, hurting people, creating ugliness. I see all around me ugliness and horror and cruelty. And when I put my pencils or a paintbrush to paper, suddenly I can create beauty or at least capture it. I can find a way of making the world a better, rather than a worse place.” Piotr was sure that he sounded like an idiot, as he usually did when he tried to explain things that lodged so deeply inside of him. Or anything. “I am sorry, that probably sounds-” 

 

“It doesn’t.” Betsy cut him off before he could speak. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Tall as she was, she still had to tug him down to her level to kiss him. It took him a few seconds, but he responded, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her close. She tasted like smoke and champagne and something far more wonderful than either of those things- of  _ her.  _

 

When they parted, she looked up at him. “I suppose I’ve gone and ruined your artistic objectivity now.” 

 

“Objectivity … is sometimes overrated.” Piotr admitted and although it didn’t sound very principled, in his defence, an impossibly beautiful woman had just kissed him. 

 

“Get your supplies in order, Piotr. I’ll see you in a few minutes. In the bedroom.” Betsy practically purred and turned on her heels and sauntered in the direction of her bedroom, hips swaying exaggeratedly. Piotr’s hands started to get that peculiar itch and he fidgeted at his suit jacket for a moment, removing it and putting it neatly on the chair, before opening his bag and taking out the necessary supplies, pencils, paper- the canvas and paints would likely have to wait. 

 

Finding himself a touch shaky, he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to pour himself a little extra champagne- which he finished quickly as he gathered up his supplies and waited for a moment or two, enough time to make sure she was ready, before walking into the bedroom, where he found her waiting for him, covered only in a filmy sheet, which soon fell to the ground as she posed on the bed, lying on her side. 

 

His eyes roamed over the gentle slopes and curves of her body, over light golden skin, framed with dark purple hair. Eyes of the same purple colour looking back at him with amusement and something else, something that both excited and frightened him a little. Long, long legs that could have been carved out of marble. A taut, flat stomach that suggested she did more than a little exercise. Round, full breasts that rose and fell gently with each breath. A saucy little grin that spoke of hedonism. His gaze returned to her eyes. 

 

She couldn’t have been much older than him- he would have figured her for about twenty-one or so, but she’d clearly seen and done much in her life. She was fierce and proud and he’d have to capture that, as much as any of the details of her physically perfect body. A touch brash, though, someone who acted first and thought later. The lazy grin of a sensualist, but eyes that suggested a proud, fierce and  _ good  _ heart. 

 

“Stay as you are.” Piotr finally said, his voice coming out with a surprising power and authority. “Just turn a tiny bit, towards me.” She followed his directions and he caught her gaze. And then, he knew that he had his portrait. 

 

“You’re a lot more confident with a pencil in your hand.” Betsy observed as he started laying down the basic lines, of her body, yes, but also the silky sheets that surrounded her. It was another thing that he already loved about her as a subject and a woman- she had no shame about her body, no shame about being naked. Some women felt vulnerable, weak, when they were naked, couldn’t wear their shell. Betsy, on the other hand, looked natural. He supposed part of it was that she was used to posing.

 

She was right, of course. He was more confident with a pencil in his hand, making lines and marking curves on the paper, moving with a boldness that he rarely echoed in anything else he did. Some of her hair fell across her face and she started to brush it aside but he simply found himself saying “No.”. He liked the tiny hint of perfect imperfection. Beautiful as it was, the portrait was that of a woman, not a goddess. 

 

Goddesses were boring, untouchable perfection. Betsy wasn’t like that at all. She was flesh and blood, but also thoughts and dreams and ambitions. He didn’t know how much of that he could capture on paper, but he would do his best. 

 

He could not say that his life had been an easy one, all in all, but he’d always been thankful to have his gift for art, perhaps never more than right now. 


	35. Erik II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholme, Sebastian Shaw and Tessa go to a restaurant together. 
> 
> Whelp, this can't be good.

“Quite the restaurant, Erik. I take it we’re not meeting my usual type of people here.” Raven whistled as she looked around the grandly decorated and completely private room they’d been ushered into in the upstairs of the Languedoc, an extravagant, Michelin three-starred restaurant occupying prime real estate in the city, only a stone’s throw from the Hellfire Club, the gathering place and playground of the global elite. 

 

“We’re meeting very important guests, yes.” Erik replied with a faint grin as a server came with  _ amuse bouches  _ and cocktails to keep them satisfied until their guests arrived. “So be on your best behaviour, Raven.” He waggled his finger at her teasingly and was rewarded for his efforts with an emphatically raised middle finger. He loved that Raven was never anything but blunt and honest with him- she respected him, but treated him like a man. It was a reason that he’d always found himself back together with her, some way or another, through uncountable decades. 

 

When they’d first met, he’d been Max Eisenhardt and little more than a boy- she was well into her thirties then but chose to manifest herself as being a slender teenage girl with red hair. He’d watched her dance for the American GIs in a rundown cabaret, amid what looked like the complete end of civilization and had been completely entranced. Raven had only been a so-so singer, but he’d never met a woman who could dance like she did. Of course, he’d loved another girl, sweet, quietly strong Magda, but brazen Raven had seduced him almost instantly. 

 

Then, as his life lay in ashes after the fire that had killed Magda and little Anya, she’d found him and together, they’d blazed a trail across Europe, avenging their mutual losses, killing and fucking whoever they pleased. They’d parted again as she became more serious about the Cold War and he’d settled down to practice science more seriously. They’d met again in the Eighties for a time, and again, a decade later. Fate had parted them for some time, but now they found themselves back together. Perhaps for good now. 

 

_ There are several people I love, but I trust her. She’s reliable. I do not know many people whom I can trust. Wanda is too attached to her friends at the Institute, to Charles, to Scott. Pietro is unreliable, young and brash.  _

 

“Fine. I’ll behave. If for no other reason than I’m curious about who rates being ‘very important’ to you. Usually when you talk about important people, you’re looking in the mirror.” Raven grinned saucily, very much aware that she got away with almost infinitely more than most other people. 

 

“You’ll know when you meet them.” Erik replied- he could have told her, certainly he trusted her enough to do so, but part of him simply wanted to preserve the surprise- the magician waiting until the final moment to reveal the final act. “And they should be here soon.” Neither of his guests would be likely to be very late- time was an infinitely valuable commodity and both of them were well aware of that. “After all, my dear, we’re here a little early.” 

 

“You’re such a fucking German, Erik.” She played up her own Berliner accent heavily as she teased him in their mutual first language. “You were probably born with a pocketwatch stuffed up your ass.” There wasn’t another person on Earth that he would allow to tease him in that fashion, but she’d suffered gravely at the hands of the Fatherland herself. 

 

She’d never been inside one of the camps, but Erik knew she’d lost many of her friends. Raven’s whole world- the sleazy, decadent cabarets of Weimar Berlin had been obliterated by the Nazis. Most of her friends, communists, anarchists, Jews and homosexuals, had been killed or imprisoned by the regime. That searing experience, combined with a relationship that spanned several decades, gave her rights that no one else had. Not even Charles. 

 

“Raven.” The admonishment was gentle, but he needed her to take this meeting seriously. It was important, perhaps the most important step in his plans thus far. 

 

The clock struck eight and at precisely that moment, their guests arrived, being ushered into the private room by one of the servers. Sebastian Shaw was a tall and powerful man with a somewhat feral way of moving and an overall cast of barely concealed energy- an insatiable drive and ambition that had allowed him to build a great business empire from virtually nothing. He was also thoroughly amoral and Erik didn’t really trust or like the man- but he was valuable and seemed to have similar notions to Erik’s ideals regarding mutantkind.  _ Different tactics, but with the same goal.  _ He was a man that Erik could work with. 

 

The woman he was with was very young indeed, just over twenty years old but Erik knew her well from his days at Columbia University- she’d been by far his most intelligent and ambitious student, a woman who absorbed and processed knowledge with an efficiency almost unimaginable. When she’d left academia, he had at first been surprised, but the truth was that Shaw utilized the full scope of her talents better than any research program ever would. Erik wondered, though, if even Shaw really understood what an incredible asset he had with Tessa. 

 

Most likely Sebastian figured that Tessa was a pawn, albeit a useful one. Erik knew better- she was a player and a more gifted one than most people gave her credit for. This meeting had, fundamentally, been her idea, though no doubt, she’d carefully ensured that Sebastian considered it his own idea. 

 

“Erik Lehnsherr. A pleasure.” Sebastian held out his hand and Erik took it. The grip was firm, just this side of painful and he was certain that it was Shaw’s typically American, passive-aggressive way of asserting dominance through an outwardly friendly gesture. It took all of his Central European politesse not to laugh at the attempt. He knew that Sebastian was a mutant, with not inconsiderable powers, but he controlled fundamental cosmic forces.

 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Sebastian. Tessa, lovely as always to see you. You’re beautiful as always.” The air-kisses exchanged between them were hollow things compared to the very real ones they’d shared not so long ago, during the brief, forbidden, intoxicating tryst they’d had when she’d been his graduate student, just before she’d left to become Shaw’s personal assistant, mistress and quiet power broker. He noticed Raven’s eyes settling on them and it was difficult to tell whether she was a bit jealous or turned-on at the notion. 

 

Erik gestured towards Raven. “Sebastian, Tessa, may I introduce you to Raven, my partner and primary agent in our work to come.” Raven came up to greet Sebastian, who clearly would have been happy to give her more than the customary whispery kisses to the cheek, and then to Tessa- and there, well, it was Erik that wouldn’t have minded a far more intimate greeting there. Offhandedly he wondered if Raven would end up wearing Tessa’s form later that night- she often did so, sometimes to tease him, other times because she liked playing the parts of other people. A born actress. 

 

After a brief round of pleasantries, the four of them sat down at the table, a server wordlessly bringing them drink- whisky for him and Sebastian, ice cold vodka in a tall glass for Raven and a glass of white wine for Tessa. As food started arriving, platters of mostly small bites that allowed for conversation while eating, they slowly settled down into business. Sebastian pushed forward an elegant metal box towards Erik. 

 

“A gift. Tessa told me you were wanting this. Enough of the rare metal components to manufacture approximately one hundred pounds of adamantium. She tells me that you can use your mutant abilities to manufacture it, without specialized equipment. An impressive- and potentially profitable gift.” Sebastian, of course, tended to think in terms of dollars and cents, of favors given and received. A businessman at heart then, a canny one perhaps but not a man of higher vision. 

 

“Thank you. Your gift is gratefully accepted.” Erik took the box and set it down. It was a valuable gift- it would allow him the ability to make himself virtually invulnerable at will. He already knew when he’d debut it, when he’d make his first show of power. Someone needed to be sent a powerful message, not to interfere. He knew that Charles would not accept his plans and he needed to convince the man to stand down.  _ With this, I should be able to do so in a sufficiently impressive way, without harming anyone. I may even convince a few of his students to follow me.  _ “You spoke about needing some direct action to further the plan- perhaps we can find something that sufficiently benefits your interests? I’m not as wealthy a man as you, but I’m not without resources of my own.” 

 

Sebastian smiled thinly at that. “I think we share an enemy, in truth. The Purifiers. Their maniacal crusade threatens everything that I have been trying to accomplish. I cannot imagine you wouldn’t be amenable to punishing the fiends for their cowardly killings.” Erik wasn’t fooled by Sebastian’s transparently false moral outrage- Sebastian likely had no morals, but if that was what Sebastian wanted, he was happy enough to go along with the charade of being equal partners for now. He wanted to destroy the Purifiers at least as badly. 

 

“Perhaps two strikes- one directed at demoralizing the rank and file of the organization and another at eliminating at least the local leadership.” Tessa spoke. “I believe that Raven’s particular skills would be most useful for the latter of the two. Decades of experience in West German intelligence- uncovering 32 East German spies, killing 27 more.” She smiled thinly. “An impressive resume.” 

 

Raven raised an eyebrow for a moment, possibly genuinely surprised that Tessa knew about her activities during the Cold War. But she almost instantly grinned broadly. “Oh, those were just the ones they reported about. Some of `em were off the books totally, even the black books. Verbal orders only. But yes, I can assassinate some motherfuckers.” She emptied her glass and poured herself more from the bottle that the servers had thoughtfully left. “You’ll excuse me, Sebastian, Tessa, I’m not much for politesse. I’m a woman of action.” 

 

“On the contrary, my dear, I find it refreshing.” Sebastian quickly replied with a broad, almost feral grin. Erik didn’t like the way that his eyes settled on Raven’s body- but if she wanted to fuck him, he wouldn’t say anything against it. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind having Tessa in his bed sometime soon. It was a cardinal point of their relationship, that each was free to sleep with whomever they liked. They always found their way back to each other regardless. “I don’t think we should kill Stryker immediately though.” 

 

Erik was about to object to that, but Tessa spoke before he could, clearly anticipating what he was going to say. “Of course, he will have to be eliminated eventually. But do it now and he’ll be a martyr. Thousands will join his movement.” She sipped her glass of wine delicately, eyes flitting over Erik discreetly. 

 

“Killing him isn’t enough.” Sebastian picked up where Tessa left off. “I want to bury that bastard in his own decayed and ruined movement. Of course …” He smiled thinly and emptied his glass of whisky. “He won’t be the only one. Ours is an empire that will be built over the ashes of a great many people’s dreams.” Erik  _ knew  _ that he was talking about Charles Xavier, that Sebastian was testing him there, feeling for whether his friendship with the man held him back. 

 

Perhaps it did, a little. Erik didn’t give a fuck what Sebastian felt about that- but if he harmed Charles, Erik would kill him without a second thought. For all of the differences that had split them asunder, Charles was still his best friend. He would not destroy the man and he only destroyed his dream out of the greatest necessity.  _ Charles is a good man, if misguided and we will need good men and idealistic men in the future to come.  _

 

“Without a doubt.” Erik replied without hesitation, taking a sip of his whiskey. It was really good stuff, filling his throat and belly with warmth it flowed down into his core. “Charles is not to be harmed, though. Let him dwell amongst his clouds.” He didn’t doubt that eventually, Charles Xavier would see things his way. That one day, he could build a better world for mutants with his best friend.  _ You’re a placeholder at best, Sebastian. If you’re smart, you’ll understand that.  _

 

“Perhaps you can tell your good friend to stop interfering with my assets. His purple-haired harlot is in the process of stealing two useful mutants from under my nose.” Sebastian paused to fish a cigar out of a box- the laws against smoking in public places in New York weren’t enforced in the Languedoc’s private rooms, especially with such exalted guests. He lit it and took a deep puff. “But fine, if you insist, I won’t move directly against Charles. But one day, Erik, you may find you’ll have to. Friendship is a luxury for peacetime. We won’t necessarily be at peace much longer.” 

 

“Perhaps you are right.” Erik allowed, though he disliked that Sebastian pressed him on the point. “But Charles is my responsibility, just as handling Washington is, for the time, yours. I know all about your pet Senator. Or that Tessa has been advising the President directly. An impressive bit of double-dealing there, Sebastian. Which begs the question of- what do you really want?” 

 

“A world in which mutants rule, as they should. Where the strongest and smartest among us no longer fear the weak and stupid. I do not care if it is in the shadows or openly.” Sebastian took a deep puff of his cigar. “The most important anti-mutant bigots in the world, William Stryker aside, know and trust me. Robert Kelly counts me as a personal friend.” He laughed, long and hearty. “They think that I’m building them weapons to control and dominate mutantkind. But one day, they will wake up to find that the Sentinels serve  _ us,  _ Erik. Mutantkind. I can’t wait to see the look on that fool’s face when he realizes that he’s been our tool all along.” 

 

“An impressive speech, Sebastian.” Erik observed with a small smile as he poured himself some more Scotch. “Something that, I think we can all toast to.” He raised his glass. “To the dominion of mutantkind. To that glorious day when the strong no longer need to fear the weak. To a fruitful alliance.”  _ To the day when you understand, Sebastian Shaw, who the master really is. You’re a politician and a businessman, no true leader. Mutantkind deserves better. It needs better.  _

 

Their glasses all clinked in unison and they drank together to that promise. Erik looked around at his three companions. At Sebastian, the businessman and politician who brought impressive assets to the table, but whose greed and misguided ambition, Erik was sure, would bring him low. At Tessa, who was probably more intelligent than all of them put together, but who had always been content to remain in the shadows. At Raven, the woman he’d loved for longer than most people on the world had even lived, who would one day, he was sure, would be his queen, even if the notion would fill her with horror. 

 

All told, victory seemed within grasp. The age of humanity was drawing towards its inevitable end and the dominion of  _ homo superior  _ was nearly upon them. 

 

If that wasn’t worthy of a toast, than literally nothing in the world was. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	36. Scott IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott makes ultra-disturbing discoveries in the Danger Room logs.

Scott hunched over the monitor, looking over the accumulated data that the Danger Room had gathered on Erik, and on the surface of it, it was all pretty intimidating stuff. Professor Lehnsherr routinely went into the Danger Room privately and, according to the information he’d accessed, cleared out advanced levels intended for entire groups by himself. In record times.  _ I suppose I should be flattered that he’s investing all this time into training. But is it actually on our account?  _

 

From the day that he’d accepted the challenge, Scott had been pretty certain that they’d never actually defeat Erik, save for some miraculous confluence of solid planning and good luck. The whole intention was to prove that they could work together as a team, to effectively demonstrate that they were a worthwhile asset. Privately, Scott also hoped to convince his father that, perhaps, they could do something. 

 

The more time he had to consider it, the less he liked being holed up in the Mansion while all these things were going on. Scott was grateful to have the luxury of a place where he could be with other mutants and train and learn while being themselves, but at the same time, he hated being on the sidelines. His father regularly talked about how Scott was stepping up, developing his leadership skills.  _ But I’m a combat general, not a administrator. I need to be on the front lines.  _

 

Scott had been watching a lot of newscasts lately, featuring the Avengers in their adventures, saving cities and nations and even the whole planet from various terrifying supervillains. So far, the mutant situation hadn’t devolved into anything of that sort, but there was real danger, and maybe Scott was crazy, but he wanted to be out there, to help however he could. 

 

It wasn’t just about wanting to be some sort of badass action hero either- though if he had to be honest about him, Scott had to admit that he really envied Captain America for getting to be just that. There were all sorts of things that they needed to be doing that they weren’t. They needed to be more proactively going out and finding mutants who needed assistance and sanctuary and bringing them to the Institute. There was room for dozens of people more than actually lived there. 

 

There was also a real benefit to the notion of explicitly mutant superheroes as well- if a mutant superhero team saved the city from a supervillain, it could create positive press to counteract the negative attention they usually received. There was a real potential political benefit to direct action, especially at a time when superheroes seemed to be popping out of every corner. Only a month or so ago, some kid had started wearing red and blue and stringing up criminals in webbing. Certainly, the  _ Daily Bugle  _ had no time for this ‘Spider-Man’ but he was creating a lot of attention in other media. 

 

Finally, Scott was distinctly worried about the possibility of organized mutant terrorism on the one hand, and an increasingly paranoid and militarist government response on the other hand. Scott knew that his father invested a great deal of time and energy in working alongside authorities, but Scott saw distinct limits to that. People like Senator Robert Kelly were getting more and more influential within the government and some had even started actively supporting the Purity Crusade, while denying any knowledge of the actions of what they called ‘fringe radicals’. 

 

It was safe to say, overall, that a lot more was riding on this training Scott was doing than simply some manner of bet he had going with Professor Lehnsherr. One of these days, it was likely to be a real matter of life and death, whether they could work together as a team. They’d been attacked once already and he frankly doubted that the people who had attacked his father before would simply let it go. Next time, they’d simply send a more willing or more capable assassin. They had to be ready. 

 

“It’s a good thing that apparently I’m attracted to incredibly serious boys, because those are some of the most dire, serious thoughts I’ve ever heard out of a human being. It feels like I’m watching C-SPAN in my head.” Jean sat down next to him and pushed a tray of cookies and a glass of milk gently in his direction with her telekinesis. 

 

“I’m not  _ that  _ serious.” Scott replied a little poutily as he reached over for one of the cookies. He looked up at Jean for a moment. “... did you bake these?” 

 

“Actually, Kitty did. A little thank you for giving her the weekend off.” Jean smirked slightly and poked Scott in the shoulder. “As if I’d actually let you spend your whole birthday weekend training. You only turn eighteen once, you know. You could have training missions several times a week, pretty much any week you like.” 

 

“It’s just just about this thing with Dr. Lehnsherr-” 

 

“I know it isn’t.” Jean replied softly. “And that’s what worries me. You don’t have to take the world’s problems on your shoulders.” 

 

“Jean, you know I can’t do that. I can’t stand aside as all these things are happening. And the world’s problems  _ are _ our problems.” Scott took a bite of the cookie. “... these are pretty good.” He’d always liked snickerdoodles. There wasn’t a sugar cookie in the world that wouldn’t be better with a little cinnamon on it. 

 

“I’ll tell Kitty that. She’d probably be super excited to hear you thinking so much about establishing us as mutant Avengers.” Jean sighed quietly and leaned against Scott. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be projecting all of my own worries on you. You have enough worries as it is.” Her hand found his. “I’m also scared about Professor Lehnsherr, Scott.” Her eyes went over the monitor. “He’s basically the most practiced mutant on the planet. Nobody’s better with their powers than he is- not even Charles. Why is he investing so much effort into this? What is he running?” 

 

“I’ve been pulling up the numbers so far, I haven’t looked too deep into specifics.” Scott took a sip of his milk and gave Jean’s hand a little squeeze. “You know that I’m not going to do anything crazy, right? I’m Boring Serious Man, not Impulsive Crazy Guy.” At the same time, however, Scott started looking through individual simulations. They were pretty normal, run of the mill situations involving hostile agents. 

 

In the last few weeks, however, that had mostly shifted into simulations directly against Scott and the others- and while he would have expected someone with Professor Lehnsherr’s competitive streak to engage in some direct training, the frequency of it was a little unnerving. He took a deep breath and started looking at actual replays. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Scott.” Jean breathed softly as she watched Professor Lehnsherr tear his way through them. Suddenly, Scott felt a horrible seizing feeling in his gut- this wasn’t good-natured competition, not in the slightest. In the simulation, he was killing them. He zoomed in on Lehnsherr’s face. He wasn’t horrified or dismayed so much as he was annoyed. It wasn’t what he was looking for. 

 

The next video looked something more like the fairly tough but generally good-natured takedown that he would have expected to get from Professor Lehnsherr- probably accompanied by some sort of pithy quote or grand speech. But it was clear that he was dissatisfied with that too.  _ He’s clearly looking for a message, but what message is he wanting to send, and to whom?  _

 

“Scott … ” Jean managed to say. “... are we going to be going through with this?” 

 

“No. It’s not safe- this is insane. Dad needs to know about this.” He turned towards her and gently kissed her forehead. “You don’t have to stick around and watch these if you don’t want to. God knows that I’m disturbed too.” 

 

“No.” Jean replied with a real edge in her voice. “I’ve known for  _ years  _ that Erik Lehnsherr is fucked and I’ve also known that nobody would believe me. Wanda puts on a good front for most people, but she’s a mess, Scott. And Pietro too. Because they had to live with that man. After Germany, he fucking  _ taunted  _ me about it, because he thought it would bring my powers out.” Scott had never seen Jean this angry before, almost trembling with rage. 

 

Scott for his part felt a real, abiding guilt, because he knew that deep down, he wouldn’t have completely believed Jean himself and he hated himself for that. Seeing the evidence before him made him question a lot of things, about what sort of man Erik Lehnsherr really was.  _ Does my father have any real idea about any of this? Why didn’t he see this? Why didn’t I?  _

 

“Because deep down, you assume that people are good.” Jean replied, though her voice sounded shockingly distant considering that she was right next to him. “Because Lehnsherr is a master manipulator when he wants to be. I hate him, Scott. I really, truly hate him.” Jean stared at the ongoing video and judging by the venomous look in her eyes, Scott didn’t doubt her for a second. She really  _ did  _ hate him and that in and of itself was a little disturbing. 

 

It was the sixth playback where it all became clear. It started with the team acting aggressively, using tactics that Scott himself had considered- lots of cover, frequent attacks from different angles, using Bobby’s ability to alter the terrain of a battlefield to maximum effect. But this time, there were critical differences, first, he was wearing some sort of armour, which he’d programmed into the Danger Room for this runthrough- which was odd, because giving extra equipment was against the rules of the challenge.

 

The ensemble he’d put on himself was something else to consider- an intimidating set of armour in crimson and what he guessed was purple with flowing cape and steel helmet- clearly intended to make a visual statement as well as to serve as protection. Overall, the impression was of some great and terrible tyrant from the past, a god-emperor who could dispense life and death with the merest gesture. The way he was acting, too, was of someone who wanted to project effortless mastery. Deliberate gestures, actions that were intended less to swiftly and efficiently neutralize than to terrorize. 

 

This time, Lehnsherr looked satisfied, with how he was not just winning the encounter but visibly terrifying the students. The Danger Room AI was alarmingly good at depicting their behaviour and watching them crack, one at a time, psychologically as much as physically was horrific, yet somehow mesmerizing. The tactician in him was impressed with the thorough mastery of psychological warfare. It confirmed, above all else, that Lehnsherr was a true master of his craft. 

 

The rest of Scott, however, was horrified by what he saw, at the sheer callousness of exposing people who were still mostly children, to make some sort of point. And who could the point possibly be aimed at? Most of the students were already at least a little frightened about Lehnsherr. It couldn’t be a public statement, because it was happening in a closed environment. There was no other conclusion except that the whole exercise was intended to be a direct statement to his father. The inflammatory nature of what he was planning to do would almost certainly precipitate an immediate split between the two of them.

 

The whole thing amounted to a warning shot to his father-  _ don’t interfere with me or I will do this to your beloved students for real.  _

 

It was Scott himself who turned it off after that, his head sinking into his hands. “What did I get us into, Jean?”  _ What the hell was I thinking?  _

 

“That Erik Lehnsherr cares about us as people and that he’d never actually hurt anyone here.” Jean replied, wrapping her arms around him. He could still feel her anger, but for the moment, her love and protectiveness for Scott was tempering her rage. “You assumed that he was interested in playing hard but fair, like you do. Don’t blame yourself, Scott. Don’t. This is his fault, not yours.” 

 

“We’re going to have to tell Dad about this, I mean, I will- you don’t have to. Unless you want to.” That probably sounded ridiculously stupid, but Scott didn’t feel sure of too much anymore. For all that he’d sometimes thought that Professor Lehnsherr could be a bit of a jackass, he’d respected the man a great deal, for his intelligence, his charisma, his seemingly endless devotion to mutantkind. 

 

“We’ll go together.” Jean replied firmly and then paused for a moment. “Do you think that your father would hide this away?” 

 

“I’m not sure. He probably wouldn’t want to upset anyone else.” Scott took a deep breath. “... I think I know what you’re thinking. That the others need to see this. First.” 

 

Jean nodded. “I think everyone needs to know about this. I want Lehnsherr gone, but I want people to know  _ why. _ ” 

 

Suddenly, Scott got a hideous feeling that regardless of whether this training video got cancelled- that they may have a very good reason to continue training with Erik Lehnsherr in mind. He couldn’t help but feel that one day they would be coming to grips with the man, and not in a training exercise, but in real combat. And on that day, they’d have to not just put a good show in, but actually  _ win. God, what’s going to happen with Wanda and Pietro?  _

 

“They’ll have to make their own choices, Scott.” Jean spoke quietly, giving him a little squeeze. 

That was precisely what scared Scott the most, though, because he couldn’t imagine- no matter how lousy Erik’s relationship was with his children, having to choose between family and conscience. It was the sort of dilemma that Scott was used to reading about in well-worn historical fiction about the Civil War. And depending on how they chose, could Scott find himself making similar choices? Wanda was like a sister to him and as frustrating as he sometimes found Pietro, he was like a brother to him too. He’d known the Lehnsherrs almost as long as he’d known his father. 

 

_ It’s okay to be scared, Scott. I am too. I’m terrified of where this is all leading.  _

 

_ Me too, Jean.  _

 

Scott knew that the partnership between his father and Erik Lehnsherr wouldn’t last much longer and rightly so, as Erik had just proven that he valued making a point over the safety and security of students at the school. And if Erik could be so callous about people he’d known for such a long time, how would he treat strangers? What were his plans? A man with Erik’s power, his intelligence, charisma and ambition could be a world-historical threat. 

 

Scott closed his eyes for a moment, but all he could see was the image of Lehnsherr, in his terrifyingly regal armour, floating above them like some sort of wrathful god. 

 

Scott wasn’t just afraid. He was  _ terrified.  _

 

But he wasn’t just upset, he was  _ angry.  _

 

_ How dare he. This is supposed to be a place of peace and understanding and sanctuary and he would bring violence and terror here. To try and intimidate my father and us.  _

 

_ You’d better watch yourself, Erik Lehnsherr. Because we’ll be watching you, for damn sure.  _

  
  



	37. Charles III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik have a final confrontation. 
> 
> Logan shows up with booze afterwards.

“You wanted to see me, Charles?” Erik’s voice seemed casual, unconcerned. He looked like he’d come home from some sort of evening out on the town, wearing his best suit.  _ He’s probably been seeing his new girlfriend in the city, and doing God only knows what else.  _ Charles wished he knew precisely what, but even if he’d intended to look inside Erik’s mind, it would be a colossally difficult task. For practical purposes, the man was nearly immune to telepathy. 

 

“I do.” Charles spoke with a tone he didn’t use often. He was known for being kindly and patient but right now he didn’t feel like either one of those things. “Sit down.” He had the urge to get out some scotch and have a few drinks, but he knew that it was best if he faced this unpleasant conversation sober. “I’ve seen the Danger Room logs, Erik. What in God’s name am I supposed to make out of that except a premeditated plot to terrorize children, including  _ my son?”  _

 

Erik slipped off his hat. “Charles … you’re clearly upset. I don’t think this is the best time to talk about this, do you?” 

 

“Sit.  _ Down _ .” Charles barked at him. “You are going to sit in that chair and if you’ve got something to say to me, you will tell me personally, man to man and leave my students out of this. And then you are going to pack your bags and go away, because I will not have you anywhere  _ near  _ children.” It had been a long time since Charles had felt so angry and he was certain he was broadcasting, but maybe it was good that the students knew that he was angry, that he wasn’t going to accept this outrage with good grace. There were limits, and Erik had vastly exceeded them. 

 

Erik for his part seemed legitimately surprised by the force of Charles’s tone and actually sat down, though his gaze back at Charles was uncowed and defiant. “I never would have harmed them, Charles. I have no desire to hurt any of them. My own children could have been on that team.” Metallic objects in the room began to vibrate slightly. “You wish me to tell you, man to man, Charles? Very well. I am not going to sit here while the architecture of oppression and genocide are built around us. And I will not brook the slightest interference, from you or any of yours. 

 

If you wish, you can sit here and tilt at windmills, but in the meantime, there are things that actually need  _ doing  _ in the world.

 

Peace is dead, Charles. They’ve already started the war, and I will finish it. Don’t stand in my way.” Erik smiled thinly, his eyes flashing. “Is that sufficiently candid for you, old friend? Have I made myself clear enough for you?” 

 

“What you’re talking about is madness, Erik. Madness. Open warfare won’t result in anything but death and destruction for all humanity- mutants included.” Charles tried to dial back his own anger for a moment, trying to find a way to appeal to Erik using reason and logic. Deep down, though, he realized that he couldn’t. He hadn’t wanted to watch the eerily realistic Danger Room videos, but he’d forced himself to watch them all. He didn’t exactly approve of Scott and Jean’s decision to show them to anyone who wanted to see them, but at the same time, the students deserved to know what Erik intended to do to them. And if that made them want to leave, he’d let them go. 

 

“Madness is sitting around in this Institute and pretending that things are all right out there, Charles. Madness is doing nothing as mutants are murdered almost every night by armed fanatics, as politicians in Washington calmly discuss our registration and internment. As weapons of genocide are being built by contractors.” Erik swept grandly at the air, launching to his feet and trying to loom over Charles, who stared back him at him, refusing to be intimidated. 

 

“You’re the one who decided that it would be a good idea to terrorize children. Katherine is fourteen years old, Erik. Is that your idea of action? Traumatizing a fourteen year old girl?” Charles spat back at him. “If you are going to shout out slogans at me, then perhaps we really don’t have anything to talk about. Even the noblest ideals mean nothing if you throw away all basic decency.” 

 

“If you’re angling for an apology from me, you won’t get it, Charles. Because you were never going to understand without a sufficiently strong demonstration of my power-” 

 

“Your power to terrorize children.” 

 

“- and my resolve-”

 

“Your resolve to traumatize children.” 

 

“ _ Charles.”  _ Erik insisted. “You’re missing the greater point. This was never about the students. This was about the fact that I am going to bring about a new age for mutantkind and that you must not interfere. Or what happens next will be on you, not me. If you care about these children as much as you profess, you will not stand in my way. And maybe, perhaps, when I am finished, we can have a proper conversation.” 

 

“Get out of my office.” Charles had no interest in letting this farce continue, none whatsoever. “In fact, get out of my house. I’ll send someone with your effects tomorrow. Pack an evening bag and get out of my house. You are not welcome here.” 

 

“And Wanda and Pietro?” Erik smirked faintly. “Would you cast them out as well?” 

 

“Never. They will always be welcome here. And if they choose to stay here, I expect you will honor their wishes.” Privately, Charles suspected that the twins would split on this- that Pietro would most likely go with his father and that Wanda would most likely stay at the Institute.  

 

“Since when have people ever known what was good for them?” Erik smirked insolently, the tension seemingly dissolved.  _ The bastard looks happy about it.  _ Charles hated to have to think such unkind thoughts about a man who had been a close friend of his for so long, but then again, Erik had betrayed not just him but everyone at the Institute on such an epic scale. “But I will not compel them. They’ll know where to find me.” 

 

Erik started to walk out of the door, but just as he reached it, he turned around, his face suddenly becoming serious again. “I mean it, Charles. Do not defy me. The bonds of friendship only go so far.” 

 

“As I’m finding out.” Charles replied icily.  _ How dare you talk about friendship when you’d casually terrorize my son? How dare you, Erik? _ “Get out of my house.” 

 

It was then that Erik Lehnsherr, with all the dignity and grace of some manner of exiled emperor, walked out of the door and, by the sounds of his footprints, straight out the Institute door, without bothering to even pack. Charles would have to remind himself to get someone to send him his things tomorrow- he had an idea of where he was. Erik had tried to hide the house from Cerebro, but with a little reconfiguration, he could easily spot the ‘missing’ area. He’d send Erik’s things there. 

 

_ And is this final? The last word in our friendship?  _ That was something that Charles was less certain of- as white-hot angry as he was right now, he could always hope that perhaps Erik could see reason. He could never accept Erik as a co-headmaster again, but perhaps in time, Erik would see that his was a fool’s crusade and the two men could perhaps be friends again. That day, however, was a long way off- at the very least.

 

_ It’s far more likely that I’ve made myself an enemy today, one who will be as intractable and dangerous as any I could.  _

 

Then his thoughts went to Wanda and Pietro and his heart bled for them, because he knew, he  _ knew  _ that Erik had been a far from perfect father for them- always more caught up in his ideals and projects, whatever they were. Charles knew, of course, that he hadn’t been a perfect father either- and even less so, a perfect husband. He’d have to get in touch with Moira later tonight- tell her everything that had happened. It was hard to know whether she’d be dismayed or relieved by the news. Charles knew that she’d never entirely been comfortable with Erik. 

 

_ But Wanda and Pietro, they’ve paid such a price for their father.  _ It was desperately plain that Pietro looked up to his father even at the same time as he carried rage in his heart for how Erik had treated their mother in her final illness. Pietro had never quite fit into the Institute, though, and never really felt confidant in his father’s love. Charles tried not to let his anger suggest that Erik didn’t love his son- that would be a cruel thing to suggest, even now. But he hadn’t loved Pietro well- and probably wouldn’t do so even if Pietro joined him, which Charles considered likely. 

 

And what of Wanda? He had to admit that he was closer to Wanda than Pietro- and had been incredibly moved and honoured when she’d started calling him ‘Uncle Charles’. He knew that Wanda and Scott were close with each other, though unlike Erik, he’d always known there was nothing romantic about it- they were brother and sister, Wanda consistently teasing Scott and yet, helping him with so many things in his life. Charles knew that Wanda loved Jean and yet, that she’d been instrumental in bringing Scott and Jean together. 

 

If Erik had his way, he’d tear her away from most of the people that she loved and cared about, that kept her from succumbing to the immense weight of her unique mutant powers and the perspective that forced upon her. It was another reason to practically shake with anger at Erik’s callousness and cruelty. Erik threatened to hurt his son, but he was also hurting his own children, whom Charles loved as well. 

 

_ Telling Erik to leave is one thing, but it doesn’t resolve what I’m actually going to do.  _ There would be a tangible hole in the school’s programming with Erik gone- much of the science program hinged around him as did the bulk of the mutant power training. It might be possible to reduce the damage done to science education, if Hank could be convinced to shoulder more of the burden, at least for a time until he could hire more teachers, but the mutant power training would be more difficult. Perhaps, just perhaps, Scott could assist with that. Jean as well. 

 

He heard footsteps coming into his office. He didn’t immediately recognize a clear psi signal. 

 

“Erik, we have nothing more to-” He turned around to see Logan standing there. “Logan.” He tried to sound friendly, but he was certain that it failed miserably. “This is not a good time, I hope you can understand.” 

 

“I dunno, Charley.” Logan shrugged. “Seems like a great time for a drink. I know Scotch is your usual, but I got some pretty good bourbon here. Gonna have to drink it neat, though.” Logan sat down on the edge of the desk and poured two generous glasses and passed one over to Charles. “You’re a brave man, Charley. Erik coulda killed you with a thought.” 

 

“... you’ll forgive me if I’m not overly self-congratulatory.” Charles accepted the bourbon, at least three fingers of it. He wasn’t going to turn down a drink at this point. “If I may ask, why come in now? It’s very kind of you to offer me a drink, but you don’t seem the kind of man to make social calls.” 

 

“I want to tell you that you made the right call. And yer doing the right thing.” Logan took a sip of his drink. “This place is better off without him. It’d probably be better off without me too, but the way I figure it, ya might need someone to help with trainin’.” 

 

“You’re intending to stay then?” Charles asked, his eyebrow arched. He hadn’t really expected that. Logan had done more than a few favors at this point. He’d always been free to leave as he pleased, but he’d more than earned that privilege by any reasonable metric. 

 

“I dunno `bout forever, but I don’t really have a place to go. I expect I’ll be comin’ and goin’ some, but the fact is- you gave me a life back. And yer doing the same thing with these kids. They’re learning how to be themselves and be proud of it and do the right thing.” Logan shrugged. “There’s a cabin on yer grounds.” 

 

“Yes, though it’s been terribly neglected.” Charles suspected he knew where this was going. “You’re more than welcome to stay there.” He decided to take a sip of the bourbon- it burned a little going down his throat, but it was surprisingly smooth on the palate. He’d have to look into getting a bottle at some point. 

 

Logan nodded. “Thanks. It’s not park country in Canada, but it’s better than nothin’. I also figure you need someone to go travellin’ about and findin’ young mutants who need help. I’m volunteerin’ to do that, at least sometimes. Like I said, I’ll be comin’ and goin’, but if I’m here, I’m here to help.” He finished his drink and poured another. 

 

Charles couldn’t help but smile faintly, no matter how upset or worried he was. “And if I hadn’t kicked Erik out of the school? Would you have been so obliging?” 

 

“No.” Logan replied. “In light of what he did? He’s a fuckin’ viper. You said it yourself. The man has no place bein’ anywhere near children.” He took another sip of his drink, savoring it. “I ain’t gonna lie to you and say that I’m a perfect man. I’ve done a lot of terrible things even if I can’t remember half of `em. But kids? I draw the fuckin’ line way before that.” 

 

Charles took another long drink- it really was quite good and more than a little welcome after all that had happened in the last little while. He couldn’t overindulge, though, he had to be in the best possible condition tomorrow- tempting as it was simply to drink himself to oblivion, the school was getting a new student, their youngest yet and a few slightly older mutant residents. Charles wasn’t going to greet them with a raging hangover. 

 

“What’s the difference, I wonder, between what Erik had planned and where we seem to be going? You’re a soldier Logan and most of your skills are combat-oriented. Perhaps it isn’t so suddenly traumatizing, but what makes us any different, truly?” 

 

“They get to choose where they stand, for one. Erik wasn’t gonna give them that choice. And we keep the half-pint at home, even if she’s the fiercest one of `em. Surprised she doesn’t sneak out and kick the shit out of criminals in town every night. Maybe she does.” Logan regarded Charles for a long moment. “As full of utter horseshit as Erik Lehnsherr is, he may be right. A war might be comin’ and that’s because he’s going to do his damndest to start it. The way I see it, we got a duty to make sure the kids are ready for that. 

 

But there’s a right way ta do that and a wrong way. And all things considered, ya seem to be a pretty good judge of right and wrong, Charley.” 

 

“Thank you.” Charles replied sincerely, finishing his drink, which Logan almost immediately started to refill. Charles waved him off after it’d passed two fingers, though. “I do need to work tomorrow.” He smiled thinly. “And I don’t have a healing factor like you.” 

  
“Ya sure do.” Logan laughed. “Got a lot of explainin’ to do to some parents too, I imagine. The kids’ll probably cover for ya, but they’ll be askin’ questions.” 

 

“Thank you for reminding me.” Charles replied dryly but then he set down his drink for a moment and looked up at Logan. “But more sincerely, I’m glad you came to us.” 

 

“Woulda been better if I’d knocked.” Logan smirked and took another drink. 

 

“Perhaps.” Charles couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “But sometimes good things happen in strange ways.” 

 

“Sounds like somethin’ to drink to.” Logan raised his glass and Charles picked his up to clink with Logan. 


	38. Pietro III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro runs to the Brotherhood House and has a conversation with Raven.
> 
> Secrets are revealed.

At first, Pietro ran. That’s what he did when things got too real, too frightening, hit too close to home. He ran, and damn it, he might not have been good at anything else, but he could _run._

 

He’d run all the way into New York and to the House, where Raven hadn’t asked any questions, opened the door for him, scratched together some leftovers from dinner for him to eat and offered him a bed if he needed one. Pietro had felt bad about that, because he kind of wanted to resent her as just another woman that his father was fucking that wasn’t Mom, but it wasn’t Raven’s fault. Mom was dead now. She hadn’t been the other woman then. And she hadn’t asked any questions, which he appreciated.

 

The food had been nice too- a couple of the guys at the House really knew how to cook, though he’d marvelled at the fact that there _were_ leftovers. Maybe they’d expected Pietro. If so, that’d been kind of them. He was kind of expecting to find his father there, ready to hear his welcome, to hear Erik Lehnsherr say that Pietro Lehnsherr had made the right choice. He was glad that wasn’t the case. Right now, he didn’t really want to hear that.

 

Once Pietro walked into the room that was, apparently, now his, he nearly collapsed on it, more emotionally than physically exhausted. _So this is it. The big dysfunctional family has finally split up._ He reached over for a pillow and put it over his head, screaming into it. When he finally couldn’t anymore, he just lay there for a moment, trying not to think about the life that he’d literally left in the dust. Reassuring himself, that, of course, he’d be welcome to visit- that, indeed, he’d have to go back to get his things and talk to Wanda, did nothing.

 

_The dream is over._

 

Pietro wasn’t thinking of Charles Xavier’s dream, one that he’d always thought was a pretty desperately optimistic notion at best- more likely foolishness. Pietro knew that, for the most part, people didn’t accept people who were different than they were. They were more often incredibly inventive in finding justifications to hate and fear them, to continue doing so in the face of even overwhelming social pressure. One could only look at the fact that, of all things, anti-Semitism sure seemed to be making a comeback in the 21st century.

 

_Not that I ever really thought of myself as all that Jewish, but still. Wanda always identified a bit more with it._

 

There was a huge difference, though, between Jews and mutants, or say, gay people or black people and mutants that people tended to ignore or downplay. Mutants were objectively dangerous in a way that could not be said about most minority groups- Pietro’s father could tear apart a tank or bring down a jet fighter with a mere thought. His sister could disrupt the very fabric of reality. He knew a guy who could obliterate just about anything by looking at it. Even here in this House, there was a girl who drained people like a vampire when she touched them, a dude that could create earthquakes, another one who could control fire, a girl who could produce bombs out of nothingness.

 

Pietro kinda thought that the humans weren’t entirely wrong to fear mutants. The thing was, that as it happened, he was a mutant and he didn’t feel like lying down just because he could kinda understand where the other guy was coming from. If they decided to hate and oppress mutants, then he’d fight back. This was why he’d joined his father, because mutants had to stick together and fight a system that was made to oppress them.

 

Pietro heard a knock at his door and that made him pause for a moment, because it was crazy how quickly and easily he thought of it as _his_ door, _his_ room. Part of that, of course, was an old survival instinct. It was best for Pietro to get to think of a place as being home quickly, because as a kid, he’d moved around a ton. Even later with relative stability in terms of who was in the family, they’d moved a few more times. Pietro suspected that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

 

“Uh, who is it?” Pietro sheepishly peeled the pillow off his face.

 

“Jennifer Lawrence.” Pietro rolled his eyes at Raven from behind the door, even if it he had to admit it really _did_ sound like Jennifer Lawrence. Who was totally a superhot actress that he should probably lust over, right? Pietro had never cared much for the Hunger Games, though- he was way too old for that YA shit. “Here to make you feel so much better, baby.”

 

Raven had the weirdest and maybe worst ever sense of humour.

 

“Raven, god, you’re my dad’s girlfriend.” Pietro kinda wanted to tell her to fuck off just to be a jackass, but so far, she’d been super kind to him and while he was sometimes a complete dick, he wasn’t a total douchebag. There was a significant and important difference there. “But sure, whatever, come in. Uh, thanks for the food and room and stuff.”

 

“Fine, whatever.” Raven smirked slightly as she walked in, shifting into her natural form, with the slight German accent. She sauntered over to a large chair in the room and sprawled over it, looking over him. It was a little hard to tell what she was thinking or feeling, with the strange yellow eyes that- Pietro realized, she totally had in common with Kurt. Also, significantly, they were both blue. And German. That didn’t really feel coincidental, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to ask about it. “Are you okay?”

 

Pietro actually sat up and looked at her for a moment- it sounded like she really cared, fuck, it almost sounded _maternal._ And somehow, he found himself not wanting to punch her in the face for it. Maybe it’d been that she’d been pretty nice to him today, or that honestly, she seemed pretty cool. Certainly, the people at the House seemed to care about her and she seemed to care about them.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Maybe he wasn’t going to bite her head off, but he wasn’t going to cave in and cry like a pussy in front of her. Pietro didn’t cry in front of anyone, not even Wanda. He felt damn insecure enough in his own masculinity without giving other people fuel. “Just fine.”

 

“That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about that. But if you change your mind, I’m here.” Raven smiled softly. “For what it’s worth, we’re all very happy to have you here. We could use some fresh blood around here.”

 

Pietro paused for a moment, remembering something. “... what about Rogue? Is she okay?” She was pretty quiet, but she seemed cool enough. And she was totally Raven’s daughter and had gone through some pretty serious shit herself. He’d wanted to throw shit at the television when he’d seen the coverage. Warbird probably tried to attack Rogue for kicks or something. He didn’t really trust the benevolence of the Avengers. They’d be enforcers for the humans.

 

“It’s been pretty rough for her.” Raven admitted and he could see the real cracks in her usual insouciant attitude. “Thanks for asking.” It sounded like a platitude, though, the pain looked way too real to want to talk about it. He suddenly felt like a piece of shit for even asking.

 

“Well, I hope she gets better soon or feels better.” That sounded desperately awkward, but it was something. That was better than nothing, right? Pietro shifted around a little bit. “Where’s Dad? I kinda figured he’d be here.”

 

“You’d think.” Raven concurred, with a bit of a bitter edge. “He’s busy.” She actually put her hands up and made finger quotes there. “You know how he gets when he’s got big things on the go. Basically a major dickhead. He’ll be back soon. He’ll be happy to see you, even if he’s a prick sometimes.”

 

“He’d be happier to see Wanda.” Raven was about to say something, but Pietro raised his hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and thanks. But Wanda’s the smart one, the beautiful one, the one with the cooler mutant powers, the one who Dad always hoped would cotton onto his way of thinking. And the fucked thing is that I think she kinda does. Like, deep down, I think that Wanda believes that mutants are better than ordinary humans and she’s pretty damn skeptical about the prospect of peace.

 

But she’s even _more_ skeptical about Dad. And she loves too many of the people at the Institute too much. She’s not going to leave them.”

 

“Must be a hell of a thing, though. She’s your twin sister. You guys ever been separate for a long time before?” Raven asked, softly. Pietro was surprised at the tone. She really did sound like a concerned mother and a little bit of Pietro was angry that she’d presume that, but part of him just wanted her to hug him so badly and tell him that things were going to be okay.

 

“... once. When Wanda’s powers manifested first. That’s … that’s when the Uncle Charles stuff really started. It was Xavier who saved her.” And one reason he could never, ever hate the man. He really had saved Wanda- though sometimes he was afraid that the madness was still there, lurking below the surface. He wished that Dad would remember that too.

 

Maybe Charles Xavier was an idealistic fool- fuck it, he _was._ But he was the kindest man that Pietro had ever known. He’d envied Scott so much and he swore, not just or even mostly because Scott got an ultra-awesome sports car on his birthday. Pietro knew that Charles would put his son before his dream. He knew that. No hesitation.

 

He also knew that Erik Lehnsherr would not do the same thing for him. And yet, here he was, ready to do whatever his father required of him.

 

Raven looked like she was trying to find words for something. “This Danger Room thing. Were you going to be on that kid’s team, Pietro?”

 

Pietro hadn’t expected that question. It was also something he didn’t really want to think about, because the answer was probably that, yes, he was. He’d trained alongside the others, though he hadn’t felt entirely comfortable about it because it was insufferably weird to be training against your own father, even if it was really a glorified version of touch football. Wanda had been training way more fiercely- but she’d always carried a lot more bitterness in her heart.

 

“... yeah.”

 

Raven looked away for a moment. “Fuck.” Her voice was soft, but there was real anger there.

 

“Yeah. Fuck.” Pietro replied quietly. “I mean … this might sound kinda weird, but what’s it to you? I mean, it wasn’t like Rogue was gonna be there or anything.”

 

She turned to face him. “She wasn’t, you’re right. But another time, she could be.”

 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Dad isn’t … he’s way more into big ideas than people. I mean, look at me and Wanda.” Pietro didn’t know why he was saying all this, but she was being emotionally honest with him, so it felt only right to be honest with her. “I’m making him sound like the world’s biggest asshole. That’s not right. I mean, he’s right. About the big things.”

 

Raven reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, he is. The war is coming and we had best be fucking ready for it. But don’t you start thinking for a moment, for _one second,_ that it is remotely okay that he’d get you involved in his little message to Xavier. If that was Rogue, I’d rip his balls off.”

 

“Yeah, but there’s a war coming. Maybe it’s best that we be ready for it.” Pietro replied, feeling the weird need to defend his father. To justify his own decision with more than political expediency. He needed to belief that his father was in the right, that he’d not just been cruel or callous.

 

It was getting harder and harder for him not to think about Kurt, weirdly. “Uh, not to change trains on this weirdly maternal conversation you’re having with me, but you, ah, don’t know any blue fuzzy mutant kids? Like, sixteen years old? German? Tail? Yellow eyes like you? I mean, blue like-”

 

Pietro stopped when Raven’s eyes started boring into his like a gigantic drill. “... what? _Sixteen?_ ” Her eyes went wide. “Don’t fuck with me, Pietro. Seriously?” Her hand went to her mouth and he could see tears clearly on the edge of her face. “Please, I … blue? A tail? Sixteen? _German?_ ” Raven vaulted onto the bed with him and grabbed his arms hard enough that it hurt. “Are you sure?”

 

 _Whelp, I just fucked up again._ Pietro wanted to say something about the fact that she was probably going to leave finger-bruises on his arms because she was clutching him really, really hard, but that seemed so vanishingly insignificant. _Oh fuck, Kurt is her kid. Kurt is her fucking child and Dad, what? Never saw it? Didn’t care? Decided to hold it from her for some reason? What the fuck, Dad?_ She’d come into his room pretending to be a celebrity for kicks and the last time he’d seen her, she was dancing in the middle of the living room, chugging raspberry vodka straight from the bottle. She had a gigantic arsenal of really fucking huge and even more incredibly fucking cool guns in her basement.

 

Right now, however, she looked like every emotionally haunted mother he’d ever seen. Pietro remembered his own mother, when she’d received the news that she’d never get to see her beloved twins grow up. Raven was realizing right now, that she had a kid that she’d never got to watch growing up. And while he’d never figure her for a Mother of the Year type, he had to imagine that’d hurt a lot.

 

There wasn’t a lot he could do, except awkwardly try to hug her. Which made her let go of his arms at least, though she clung to him a little more tightly than was comfortable.

 

“Tell me everything about him that you know. My son, my baby boy- what is his name? What did they name him? Did he stay with the gypsies at the circus? Oh my God-”

 

Devoid of any better ideas, he patted her back. He wished that he knew more about Kurt except that he’d been pretty angsty, that he’d suffered a terrible tragedy not too long ago, that he’d mostly hidden in the sub-basements out of shame. Pietro desperately wanted to tell her nice things, good things that would make her hurt less. He tried his best to think of appropriate information.

 

“Yeah, he was an acrobat in the circus. And he likes Shakespeare and old movies, I think. He teleports, that’s pretty cool. And you know what, you got the wrong Lehnsherr here because he hangs out more with Wanda.” Well, Pietro knew they’d hung out a few times. Which was weird, because Wanda was still in love with Jean. But Wanda was weird like that. She was weirdly good at compartmentalizing her heart.

 

“... are you going back? To visit or anything like that?” Raven sounded so desperate and sad that he couldn’t possibly say anything to the contrary.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Pietro replied. “You want me to, uh, mention you?”

 

“I … I guess that’s pretty awkward. You don’t have to-”

 

“No.” Pietro was surprised at how sure he sounded, when it promised to be incredibly emotionally awkward. “Yeah, I can do that. I will. I promise, okay? Just … watch the ribcage.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Raven moved away from him, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m not … I never thought I’d see him again, Pietro. Or hear from him.”

 

“Well then.” Pietro decided to try for a joke. “Bitch hasn’t visited you for sixteen years. I’d better drag his sorry ass over to see his Mom.”

 

Raven actually laughed through the tears. “I know, right?”


	39. Wanda III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda is not taking recent developments terribly well. 
> 
> Scott shows up and they talk. 
> 
> And it's 4/20, so yes, weed is involved. So I guess, warning for drug use?

_ Numbers. The numbers don’t lie.  _

 

_ But could the numbers just, once, fucking shut up?  _

 

Normally when her brain felt like it was going to explode, when everything awful in her life was neatly converted into a range of probabilities of dire consequences, Wanda could quiet the roar somehow. Whether she drowned it in incredibly loud and aggressive music, whether she tried to meditate to calm down, or whether she tried to smoke herself into something approaching a normal state of mind, usually something worked. 

 

Nothing was working now. 

 

The numbers inside her head were a constant companion, a strange side-effect of her powers- or perhaps the intellectual adaptation that allowed her to use them consciously. Like the ticker on the bottom of a news channel, she didn’t spend a waking moment without statistical probabilities flitting inside her head. Sometimes they were positive or neutral. How likely it would be that she’d be able to avoid her dickhead father, how likely that the steak at dinner would be perfectly medium rare, how likely it was that she’d be lucky, like a shiny new penny and not a living blight. 

 

When she was doing badly, however, the numbers also started becoming more dire. The probability that she would bury one of her friends in the coming year- that had reached double digits, indeed, was rounding the one-quarter mark. The probability that there would be a catastrophic incident of mutant-human violence- currently 56.738 for the next six months. The probability that if it happened- that it would be instigated by her father- just over fifty percent. 

 

_ Fuck you, Daddy. Fuck you and your fucking ambitions. And fuck Pietro for going with him.  _

 

Wanda hugged her legs closer to her chest, sitting on the hill, looking up at the stars- remembering a night not so long ago, dreaming with Jean about impossible and beautiful worlds that existed in those distant stars. It’d been Jean’s fantasy to fly up into space and roam over the stars, but now it was Wanda that wanted to do nothing more than to fly away, beyond everything, a million light years away from her father and from the final, decisive destruction of her family. 

 

_ We tried, Mommy. We tried to keep ourselves together.  _

 

Wanda’s eyes turned from the stars above her to the lake on the property, not far from where she was sitting. She’d always loved the lake, though she tried to downplay that- it didn’t really fit in with her image. It was beautiful, though, the surface of the water shimmering with silvery moonlight. If it were a warmer season, she could have jumped right into it and started swimming. Objectively, intellectually, she knew that it only went on so far- but it was a nice thought to imagine that it didn’t end until it reached the sea and there she could lose herself and not have to think about numbers or probabilities or about the fact that one by one, many of the props that had kept her going seemed to be tumbling down. 

 

“Hey.” A familiar but slightly surprising voice spoke and she turned around to see Scott walking towards her and settling down next to her on the hill. 

 

“You don’t usually come out to my little roams.” Wanda raised an eyebrow slightly. It was true, though- Scott almost never did. Jean came out often enough and sometimes even smoked with Wanda. She was pretty sure that Scott would shoot himself in the head with a rocket launcher before touching pot. She loved the boy, but he was kind of hilariously square. 

 

“It’s not a usual kind of night.” Scott replied with his usual brand of slightly laconic, pitch-perfect logic. It was something that she loved about him- she liked to pretend that she was a highly logical being, but in reality, she was seethingly emotional. Scott’s rationality was organic and strangely calming. Wanda wondered if that was part of the reason why he was a better match for Jean deep down- Jean Grey was emotional enough and maybe she needed someone to bring her down instead of stoking the fires more. 

 

“Not really.” Wanda replied and decided that she was going to light another joint because as Scott had so cogently put it, it was not an ordinary night and he was smart enough to know that Wanda mostly wandered off to the hill to get high. Not that she felt particularly high tonight. 

  
If Scott disapproved, he had the good grace not to say anything about it. He just quietly sat there while she lit it up and took a couple of puffs. She turned towards him. “Were you surprised? That my father would fuck us all over for the sake of making a political point?” That was maybe too pointed a question, but it just sort of came out. 

 

“I was. I knew that a break was likely going to come, but I thought he … I thought he cared more about us?” Scott sighed. “I guess that shows me for trusting people.” 

 

“I’ve been telling people for years that my father is a fucking self-absorbed asshole.” Wanda pointed out, but then she sighed herself. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I mean, we always kind of joked about it, right? My dad’s a massive dick. But it’s not funny when that’s your life and that’s your actual father. And I’m not mad that people didn’t get it, because he is a fucking good manipulator and because I laughed too. Because I could laugh and laugh and- fuck, I could just pretend that it was all a joke. Hahaha, my dad’s an asshole. But it’s so much worse than that. He’s a monster and because he’s my father, that means I have a monster in me too.” She looked at the joint in her hand. “So this shit is supposed to mellow you out, just so you know. And sometimes I swear to God it actually works.” 

 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Scott replied but then he moved over a little closer to her. “We all have monsters inside us, Wanda, but we choose whether we let them off the leash.” 

 

“... so where’s your monster?” Wanda asked pointedly. More than anyone except maybe his father, Scott seemed to have his moral compass perfectly in order. She couldn’t count on anyone in the world more than them to know what the right thing was and to execute it. The amazing thing about Scott Summers was that he could combine that incredible moral strength with a cool, pragmatic intellect. 

 

Scott took a breath and removed his glasses and opened his eyes over the lake. There was suddenly an almost deafening thundercrack as the world became red, an apocalyptic burst of power over Scott’s entire field of vision, thankfully mostly occupied by the lake, as a gigantic surge of energy slammed out into the horizon. Scott did nothing but continue looking out into lake for ten or fifteen seconds before he closed his eyes and put his glasses back on. 

 

“That’s my monster. I can destroy basically anything by looking at it. I’m a walking atom bomb, Wanda. And the scary thing is that sometimes- sometimes I wish I could just do it. Say ‘fuck it’ and destroy the world.” Scott looked at her. “I know about monsters too, Wanda. But you know what? We don’t have to fight them alone. We’re in this together.” 

 

When Wanda heard that, it felt like the dam broke and she leaned into him and started to cry, more freely than she had in a long time. “I’m scared.” She admitted, a titanic admission for her to make. “I’m terrified, Scott. There are so many terrible things coming. I’m so scared that as much as I hate his guts, that he’s right and the war is coming. What do we do then?” 

 

“We face it together. You, me, Jean, my Dad, the others. We face whatever comes as a team and as friends and as a family.” Scott put his arm around her. “I’m so glad you stayed, Wanda.” 

 

“Why did Pietro go?” It seemed weirdly ungrateful to concern herself with that at the moment, but all the talk about unity and family made her think of her twin, who had literally run all the way to New York, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being away from his father. And the worst thing was that she could understand why because even though part of her really  _ hated  _ her father, part of her loved him too and just wanted Daddy to come to his senses so they could be a real family again. 

 

“Pietro will always be welcome here too.” Scott replied firmly. “He’s part of this and there will always be a place for him here.” Wanda didn’t care if it was a lie deep down, she needed to hear that. She needed to be able to hope that her brother could join her one day, that he might come back. 

 

“Okay.” Wanda chose to believe him, needed to believe him. 

 

“I mean it.” Scott insisted. They sat again for a few more minutes in comfortable silence, watching the moonlight shine on the lake. Either the weed was finally starting to take effect or Scott’s being there was really helping, because the screaming of dire statistics in her head was lessening notably. “So.” Scott started, pausing before continuing. 

 

“So?” Wanda repeated his words to him, actually managing to smile a little through stubborn tears that insisted on continuing to fall, even though she was feeling better. Or maybe she was feeling better because she was getting to vent some of these feelings. 

 

“You and Kurt, huh?” Scott seemed a little amused by that, and, though she couldn’t actually see it, Wanda could only assume there was a bit of a raised eyebrow there. 

 

“Maybe.” Wanda replied softly. She wasn’t in love with Kurt Wagner, but he was a charming boy and she certainly liked him well enough. She also had to admit that she was more than a little intrigued by the notion of a gentleman with a prehensile tail.  _ I seem to like my guys anatomically weird in some way.  _ The only other guy she’d dated- if a bittersweet little fling could really be called dating- had wings, after all. 

 

“Remind me to come around and give him a stern talking-to.” Scott nodded with a faint smile. “I mean, I know I’m not your real brother. But I can be slightly overprotective like one.” 

 

“Oh come on. The sweet Catholic boy? He’s the one who needs to be worrying about his soul. I’m clearly a dark and evil succubus luring him into perdition with my feminine wiles.” Wanda rolled her eyes, glad for a bit of a change of topic and an opportunity to stop being vulnerable and start being the sarcastic snarkstress she preferred being again. 

 

“Eh, he’s not as innocent as you think.” Scott shrugged. “He had a girlfriend back at the circus. And he totally drank beer sometimes. That’s illegal, you know.” 

 

“Not in Germany, dumbass.” Wanda smirked. “And oh wow, that’s some persuasive evidence of his sinful nature there. Like you don’t totally drink beer sometimes, Scott. And you too have a girlfriend. Shall I consider you a corrupting influence as well? Should I flee for my sweet and innocent Jewish soul’s sake? Cast you out of my life like donuts before Passover?” 

 

“See, that’s why I could never be Jewish. Donuts should never be thrown out.” Scott smiled faintly. “Sorry, but it’s true.” 

 

“No, the real reason you could never be Jewish is because you believe in taking your obligations seriously and you could never give up bacon or cheeseburgers. No, I’m sorry, Scott, but you’ll be a  _ goy  _ all your days.” Wanda nudged his side. “You’ll never be one of the Chosen People and you should feel bad.” 

 

“Worth it for bacon and cheeseburgers. See, sometimes, we Gentiles have bacon  _ on  _ cheeseburgers. And no amount of spiritual enlightenment or beautiful tradition is going to make up for the delight of eating cow with a topping of pig, slathered in a nice thick slice of more cow.” Scott laughed. “And now I’m hungry.” 

 

“Oh my god, we should go get late-night food at the Lucky Seven.” Wanda actually giggled a little bit, taking another puff of her long-neglected joint. “Let’s do it. Just like we’re normal people and the world isn’t actually ending. I mean, sure I can’t do the double bacon cheeseburger, but I can totally get some fries and a shake.” 

 

“You just want me to drive your increasingly stoned ass there so you can dip your fries into a shake like some sort of deviant.” Scott countered, but within a few seconds he was fiddling with his keys. “Fine. Let’s go. My treat.” 

 

“Good thing, because I just lost my allowance. Fucker even took the car. I’ll have to borrow yours when I want to drive places.” Wanda laughed and waggled her hands up in the air, clearly indicating that Scott was supposed to pick her up. 

 

“Really, Wanda?” This time she could actually see him raise his eyebrows. “You can get your own ass up off the hill. Come on.” She couldn’t see him roll his eyes, but she knew that he was. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this.” 

 

“Because you’re hungry and you know that if you go for burgers and don’t even take me that you are violating every moral code that ever existed.” Wanda stood her ground and continued to waggle her arms up at him. “Baby Jesus and Moses both agree. You’re supposed to help me up and drive to the Lucky Seven and stuff my face full of delicious shake-dipped fries.” 

 

“I have no idea why I’m doing this.” Scott sighed as he grabbed Wanda’s hands and pulled her up with a quick movement of his arms. She laughed and turned the momentum into the opportunity to hug him properly. 

 

“I love you, you big goofus.” Wanda said affectionately. 

 

“I love you too, Wanda.” Scott replied in an adorably earnest tone. “C’mon, let’s go to my car. Your stoner food awaits.” He laughed. “I can’t believe I’m enabling you.” 

 

“My little brother from another mother.” Wanda added softly before breaking out into a giggling fit. “Oh my god, I’m still holding this thing. How have I not burned us yet?” She snaked out of his arms and did her best to finish it quickly, taking puffs and coughing as she went too quickly. 

 

“You are  _ not  _ doing that in my car, just so we’re clear.” Scott watched her for a moment, probably in honest befuddlement. “Is that coughing like … normal? It doesn’t seem fun.” 

 

“I’m only coughing because I’m finishing this thing in like, one minute, so I can hope in your car and go eat delicious fried things. And .. you know that this shit helps, so don’t you!” She poked him in the chest. Wanda would have been angrier if he was actually condemning her, but she knew that he understood, at least partially, that she needed whatever she could get to calm the roar in her mind. 

 

“Whatever. As long as you don’t smoke in my car.” Scott insisted. 

 

“I would never do that! I’m only  _ kind  _ of a bitch, Scott.” Wanda poked him again. “I’m done. Let’s go. Fries, Scott. Delicious greasy fries dipped in delicious cold milkshake. Or cheese fries. Or, or,  _ poutine.  _ I mean, we could just be Canadians. I mean, you’re a polite guy who likes hockey. Why aren’t you eating more poutine? Why aren’t we going to this place on a big old sled, Scott?” 

 

“Because we’re not Canadians. Now c’mon, before I change my mind.” Scott poked her back. 


	40. Logan IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Kitty have a run-in with each other in the gym. 
> 
> Kitty's fierce, yo. Logan's kinda impressed.

Logan had never really needed eight hours of sleep- he usually got by just fine on four or five and could pull all-nighters without suffering too badly. So it wasn’t all that uncommon for him to be one of the last people in a given group to be in bed at the same time as he’d be the first to get up. A lot of people who lived hard hated the morning hours- mostly because they were too hungover to get through them in anything like decent shape. But Logan liked them. He liked the sunrise, liked the precious quiet afforded by the time just before and after. 

 

The gym at the Xavier Institute, that was, the regular gym, operated under 24-hour access, which was something he appreciated.  _ Gettin’ to like this place too much, Logan. Might be one day they kick you outta here too and who could blame `em? You’re doin’ okay at playin’ nice so far, but is that gonna last?  _ The rage, the pain still lived inside him, not too far below the gruff but fairly calm surface and sooner or later, he knew someone was going to see the ugly side of that. 

 

And what about the Institute after all? Logan wasn’t sure he really had a whole lot of faith in the future- Charles’s dream seemed pretty utopian to him. His memories were a scrambled mess, but he knew that he’d seen the ugly side of human nature pretty up close and personal. Logan remembered seeing the gas chambers and ovens of the Holocaust, the clouds of poison gas and endless miles of barbed wire of the First World War, and men killing men wearing different uniforms and no uniforms at all through more wars than he could even put names to.

 

Logan wasn’t going to exclude himself entirely from that either- he’d killed a lot of people in his life and he’d be lying if all of them were in self-defence or manifestly evil men. A lot of them were unlucky bastards who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He probably would’ve liked a lot of them if he’d met them over drinks instead of over the deafening roar of artillery. And if there were a lot of decent folk among the Fritzes he’d killed wearing the swastika- fighting for what might’ve been the worst state people ever made, that applied double for the war between boys in blue and boys in grey. Or the wars he’d fought against the redcoat RCMP with Louis Riel, Crowfoot and the others. 

 

_ Christ, sometimes you think too much, Logan.  _ The relative peace of the Xavier Institute, even with the recent turbulence, lent itself to reflection, though. It was probably good for him, but sometimes it wasn’t especially welcome. Sometimes Logan just wanted to beat the shit out of a sandbag. It would’ve been even better to go on a hunt, but as big as the grounds of the Institute was, it was no good for hunting. It was tame land and the animals had lost some of their instincts. They wouldn’t stand a chance against him and then hunting became just plain killing. 

 

Slightly to someone’s surprise, he heard someone inside the gym, a small, slightly girlish voice and the sound of surprisingly hard impacts against sandbags. He opened the door and walked inside to see Kitty- that was the girl’s name, doing her level best to destroy the sandbags. She was a bit on the skinny side- like a lot of girls, she’d already grown as tall as she was going to get, but she’d yet to fill out, still definitely girlish. Brown curly hair was tied back and she was using what looked like some decent martial arts stances and maneuvers.

 

It was always interesting to watch someone use fighting stances- not as good as seeing them actually fight of course, but one could tell a lot about them. Kitty Pryde was a girl who clearly had a great deal of aggression to work out. She had some discipline, she wasn’t just aimlessly beating on the sandbag, she was practicing stances and attacks. Logan could tell though that there was a lot of passion and anger just behind the surface. 

 

The style she was using too, was more than a little intriguing. Usually when young people picked up martial arts, it was something they could easily find in a city- karate or taekwondo, usually from a bullshit dojo that existed to make a profit. Sometimes you’d get kids who were interested in a mix of styles, trying to make themselves into UFC fighters. They at least, were serious athletes. Logan could respect that, though he’d never had any desire to fight with television cameras running. The premise of competitive sports, anyway, ran on a certain kind of fairness- fights had to be able to go either way to be interesting, and Logan was far too physically superior to any cage fighter to make it interesting for either himself or an audience. 

 

Kitty Pryde seemed to have learned how to fight neither from some suburban class or from an MMA gym. Someone had taught her personally, one on one- those moves were far too integrated into her body to be something she’d done on a lark or because parents had made her. That person, furthermore, had clearly been interested primarily in teaching her how to actually  _ fight.  _ Those weren’t katas, those were strikes and their intention would be to hurt people.  _ Krav maga? How the fuck does a fourteen-year old girl from a nice suburb know that?  _

 

Another strike, this one a knee strike that Logan was sure was, in her imagination, delivered at someone’s groin- he could imagine a few candidates himself. It was then that she noticed him and stared at him, defiant as hell, her blood up way too high to be properly nervous or intimidated by him. 

 

“How long have you been here?” Kitty demanded and for all that she had been beating the shit out of that sandbag, Logan noticed she was barely breathing any heavier. She’d barely broken a sweat.  _ She’s going to eat that Drake boy alive in a few years if they make it that far. Kid won’t be able to handle her.  _

“Not long.” Logan shrugged and smirked faintly. “Nice moves there, halfpint. Who taught you to fight?” 

 

“Don’t call me that.” Kitty glared at him and the reflexive insecurity was a good reminder that she was, after all, a teenage girl. “My uncle. My mother’s brother. He was in the special forces in the IDF.” 

 

“Not yer typical teenage martial arts.” Logan’s faint smirk became a bit of a lopsided grin. “You must be bored senseless sparrin’ with some of these jokers.” Most of them didn’t know the slightest thing about combat. The Summers kid had a bit of an eye for strategy and tactics, but the kid wouldn’t last long in any sort of fistfight. 

 

“Don’t call them jokers.” Kitty declared again. “You shouldn’t be mocking us. We did just fine fighting against you.” 

 

“Good luck and a distracted mind, halfpint.” Logan’s grin turned into something slightly more feral. “Don’t go thinkin’ you’re hot shit on account of that.” He had an idea. “You look like you’re itchin’ to hit someone. How about this, Kitty? I’m just gonna stand here and you’re gonna try to hit me. I’m not even gonna hit back. Just defend. How’s that sound?” 

 

Kitty looked like she was considering it in her mind- but Logan could pinpoint the precise moment when she told herself  _ fuck it,  _ when her gaze hardened into something really steely. The kid wasn’t there yet, not by a long shot, but one day she could be a hell of a fighter. He didn’t know her extremely well, but he knew that she was uncomfortable with sitting back, uncomfortable with pretending to be okay with just being a normal teenage girl. The kid had found her cause and she was more than ready to fight for it. 

 

“Fine.” Kitty replied and struck a fighting pose. She didn’t wait to ask if he was ready, she just went for it and it was pretty clear she wasn’t interested in holding back much. Even though he was a tough man with unbreakable bones, some of those blows would’ve really hurt if they connected, but as it was, Logan didn’t have a lot of trouble either dodging or deflecting her.

 

Logan moved in more or less a circular path, avoiding being hemmed in, giving ground as needed but without being disadvantaged by it. Kitty was attacking so aggressively that she was leaving herself vulnerable- Logan was tempted to go back on his word and attack, just to prove the point. But this at least, was kind of fun and he was pretty sure that most of the other kids here wouldn’t have dared just go for it like that. 

 

Kitty was pulling back just a little, Logan sensed, clearly becoming aware that her method wasn’t working, that just attacking, no matter how intensely, wasn’t going to get anything done. It was fun watching her think it through, starting to strategize a little now that the initial rush of adrenaline was starting to go down a little. She ducked towards him in a move that would have been suicidal if she couldn’t use her powers, but suddenly he couldn’t smell her. 

 

_ Clever girl.  _ Logan, however, wasn’t going to give it to her that easily and he turned quickly to defend himself from a strike that would’ve otherwise hit his knee.  _ A normal man would’ve been down on the ground from that- even considerin’ her fairly small mass.  _ She was still coming on quickly with strikes, but now, they were better aimed and he found himself having to work harder to counter her, especially on passive defence. 

 

This all went on for a moment or two, but then Logan noticed that the anger was growing again, that the calm control that had been working for her so well as slipping little.  _ She’s getting frustrated, just like a teenager.  _ She was pretty damn good and a lesser man would be flat on his ass, bruised and in a world of hurt. But ultimately, Kitty Pryde  _ was  _ just a kid. A smart, gifted kid with a lot of potential. But a kid, who needed a reminder that she was a kid. 

 

It wasn’t that hard for him to simply reach out and grab a leg that was attacking him and flip the girl straight onto her ass. She glared up with him savagely. “You said you weren’t going to attack me.” 

 

“That wasn’t an attack, kid. That was a friendly reminder. That you’re fourteen years old and you have a hell of a lot to learn yet.” Logan looked down at her. 

 

“You’ve been toying with me this whole time.” Kitty concluded and Logan could feel the anger, the pride- her name was pretty apt. It was harder for him to decide if she was going to cry or go completely berserk or both. “You must feel so damn smug.” Her eyes narrowed at him. 

 

“Not really. Fightin’ a teenage girl’s not much of an accomplishment.” Logan shrugged, knowing that would only make her angrier. 

 

“We could kick your ass.” Kitty retorted and if looks could kill, he would’ve been splattered all over the back wall of the gymnasium. 

 

“But you can’t.” Logan replied and this time, it was a little softer. “I’ve been fightin’ since before your great-grandparents were born, kid. Life lesson? Don’t take failure personally.” 

 

“Who said I was?” Kitty challenged him, but he knew he was right, knew that under that fierce pride and aggressive fighting style was a girl who was scared and hurt and more alone than she’d ever let on. “Maybe I just think you’re a bully, who gets his kicks from humiliating teenage girls.” 

 

“I’m not laughing, Kitty.” Logan offered her his hand, not that she really needed it. “Just pointing out that you’ve got a long way to go.” 

 

Kitty pointedly refused his help and got up herself- she was fully equal in height to him and could look him pretty much perfectly in the eye. “Well, you’ve gone and done that very neatly. Congratulations, you made your point. I hope you feel really proud.” Logan could tell that she really  _ was  _ humiliated, was nearly on the point of tears, but refused to run away. And despite the fact that he was trying to show her something that she really needed to know, really needed to internalize, he felt a little bad. 

 

“Not really. I said you got a long way to go. It’d be a real dick move for me to point that out and not offer to do something about it.” Logan’s own eyes met hers. “So, how’s about it, halfpint? Wanna learn how to fuck people up?” 

 

Logan could tell that she wanted to tell him to take his offer and fuck himself with it- he’d pricked her pride and she wasn’t going to forget that easily. But at the same time, he could tell that she was really desperate to learn. The old saying said that curiosity killed the cat, but this was a girl who was clearly unafraid of flying too close to the sun, to bring up an old myth. 

 

“Yes.” Kitty was still glaring at him, was still angry and humiliated and might very well end up having a cry when this was all done- which was fine. Teenagers were weird and moody creatures and they had pretty good reasons to be that way. Logan didn’t really remember his own childhood too well, but he probably felt much the same way at some time. Still, she’d show up at whatever time he set for lessons and she’d work her ass off. 

 

If he’d had any notion at all that she wouldn’t, he wouldn’t have offered. Like most people, he didn’t like having his time wasted. 

 

“Good. Hope you don’t like sleepin’ in too much on weekends. Can’t have you goin’ too much earlier on weekdays. Gotta keep your brain good for school. Dressed and ready to go for seven am.” Logan looked at her for a moment. “Don’t expect it to be easy, don’t expect me to be nice. You’re gonna have to build a little skin. I know you don’t like to be embarrassed, but shit happens all the time. I’m not doin’ this to humiliate you. But learning is hard and sometimes you fail. Sometimes that’s where you learn the most.” 

 

“Yeah, I heard this stuff a million times ago from teachers.” Kitty looked evenly at him, clearly still not precisely pleased with him. “I’m not going to be running or crying because I get my ass kicked a little.”  _ Part of you will want to, kid, but you got too much pride and too much guts to give into that.  _

 

“You ain’t never had a teacher like me, halfpint.” Logan actually smiled slightly. “That’s a damn promise. So, seven am on Saturdays?” 

 

“Sundays.” Kitty looked at him. “I’m Jewish.” 

 

“And if I say hell no to that?” Logan raised his eyebrow a little bit. 

 

Kitty looked like she was slightly hesitant for a moment but it didn’t take her long to find her confidence again. “Then I can’t. No matter how much I want to do this, I can’t throw away my beliefs like that.” She took a breath, a lot of her anger seemingly dissipating. “I’m sorry if that’s a pain in the ass.” Amazingly, that didn’t sound passive-aggressive at all. 

 

Logan looked at her for a long moment. “Lucky thing for you that I’m not a good Christian.”  _ Or any kind of Christian. I saw what the Church did to my people and to my brothers in the First Nations.  _ “I’d rather kick your ass than go to Church any day.” 

 

“You say that, but I’ll be kicking your ass before long.” Kitty smiled, almost sweetly. He knew she’d be trying her level best. 

 

“We’ll see on Sunday. Next Sunday, though, I’ll be out. Runnin’ an errand for Charles. Apparently there’s a girl livin’ in a shopping mall in California he wants me to pick up for the school.” Logan shrugged. “I doubt Charley wants me takin’ teenage kids out on those type of errands.” 

 

“Yeah, well, we’re going to be a superhero team soon.” The way Kitty said that, Logan could tell she really believed it. “Scott’s going to keep doing team training with us.” 

 

“Is that what you want, then? To be a mutant superhero?” Logan raised his eyebrow. 

 

“Hell yes.” Kitty replied with utter certainty. “We’re going to be the best damn superheroes.” 

 

Logan chuckled softly. “You got a lot of work ahead of ya then. All of you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, canonically Logan's 5'3, but I do not remember him EVER being drawn that short. 
> 
> I usually see him around 5'6 or so. Same height as Kitty.


	41. Will II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Purifiers have several victims. 
> 
> But things are not what they seem .... 
> 
> Fair warning- this is a very violent chapter.

“Please … don’t hurt me, I’m just, I don’t have any powers.” Will heard the mutant begging, begging like they always did. He shut the creature’s satanic delusions out of his mind and pulled the trigger, blood and gore spraying against the wall, yet again. He was becoming quite practiced at this, yet he would never tire of it. 

 

It had been a successful hunt tonight, more so than usual. They had brought in a dozen mutants this time- surely a significant portion of the mutants in the city. It would have been quite possible, of course, to kill them where they found them, but the ritual slaughter was suiting. It was good for the younger and weaker in their resolve to see slaughter up close and personal, to be brought into it, to see the enemy destroyed before their eyes. 

 

Will moved down the line- he was usually the chosen executioner, not just because of his senior rank, but because, frankly, he was the best shot. He killed quickly and efficiently, didn’t flinch at his task and also didn’t take a sadistic glee in what he did. He knew that there were some among the Purifiers who had taken their positions less out of godly conviction and more out of a desire to hunt and kill with license. He could only hope that those men would find God inside their work. 

 

Ultimately, however, it didn’t matter. It was the crusade that was more important than anything else- he doubted that the knights who rode out to liberate Jerusalem from the infidel nearly a millennium ago were all pure icons of Christian piety themselves. Wars attracted all types and it behooved him to use the men that he had to the best possible extent. The truth was that it was some of the sadists that were the best at their work, men who had been turned onto violence and killing in their military service. 

 

Here, at least, he could harness their killer instinct and use it for something productive. 

 

Will himself took no sadistic glee in what he did, but he didn’t hesitate either. One mutant after another was sent screaming to Hell, to their master Satan. They were all begging, some of them were crying, one was screaming as loud as possible. He could have had them gagged, but no one was going to hear them in this basement which had been specially soundproofed. The floors, too were slanted and the blood ran freely into a drain. Some of the lesser brothers would do a very thorough cleanup afterwards- it was always needed. 

 

No matter how efficient it was, shooting people in the head was always a messy affair. 

 

“Please.” One of them begged. “I have money. I can give you money, I can give your organization millions of dollars.”

 

“Do you really believe that the promise of money is going to stop me at this point, mutant? Do you think I care about your satanic wealth?” Will was disgusted and pistol-whipped the mutant as hard as he could. The sound of breaking bone was satisfying to him. The mutant couldn’t talk clearly anymore, except in a groan. His jaw broken. Will normally executed the mutants with a neat shot in their forehead, but this time he rammed his gun into the mutants mouth as hard as he could, teeth shattering. He pulled the trigger. 

 

“They’ll do that.” Will cautioned his men as he withdrew the gun from the ruin of the mutant’s head. He used a specially made high-powered pistol- he’d had a more ordinary sidearm, but he’d learned that some of the mutants were relatively invulnerable to common small arms. This particular pistol could shoot with the power of a rifle round. At point blank, it had served well. “Never accept their bribes. Your soul is priceless. Never accept their pleas for mercy. If you feel yourself start to waver, kill them immediately. No one will punish you for not bringing them in, as long as they are dead.” 

 

Will preferred that the killing be done ritualistically, in front of the gathered congregation of Purifiers, but if it could not be helped, it could not be helped. Temptation worked in many ways and he would not fault a man for wavering briefly if he ultimately did his duty. As it happened, they were fortunate and blessed on this night. He moved down to the next mutant in the line, pressed his gun against the girl’s head. She was younger than most of the mutant filth was, a child. She didn’t say anything, just cried and whimpered. 

 

Will could have sworn that the creature sounded nearly human. He himself hesistated for a half-moment. But then his conviction redoubled and he pulled the trigger. To his amazement, however, even when her head dropped, even with the sizeable hole in her, she continued breathing. Will fired again. It took three slugs to make sure that the mutant was dead. Another in her head and one in her heart. 

 

“Mutants are sometimes harder to kill than you expect. The devil twists God’s image in all manner of ways. Even this child-demon is unexpectedly resilient. Do not hesitate to destroy them bodily if there is any doubt. Burn them if you must.” Here, here was a lesson for the younger Purifiers. Shooting someone in the head once would usually kill them if done well, but there were times where even humans could survive such wounds. There could be no survivors. 

 

Not only did leaving survivors threaten the success of the crusade, but it risked bringing the attention of the secular authorities.  _ We must remember that not all humans understand the holiness of what we do. We must bring light and purity in the darkness. Until that great day comes when we can emerge and show the world what we have done. And then, we shall bring purity to the whole world.  _

 

Their movement would begin with the mutants, of course, the first and most important enemy of God on Earth. But Will knew that the mutants were only the first that would have to be destroyed and purified- there was a universe of deviants and infidels that was to be purged and replaced with God’s people. One day, and though Will doubted he’d see it, perhaps the next generation would, only people who walked in the light of Christ would be permitted to exist on the face of the planet Earth. 

 

The next two mutants died without any fuss, Will pressing his gun to their heads and pulling the trigger. It seemed like a practiced reflex now. He’d personally slain more than twenty mutants already and tonight would bring that total far higher. To his mild annoyance, he realized he’d have to reload.  _ Serves me right for wasting bullets in that one bitch,  _ he thought to himself.

 

Ammunition, however, could be acquired easily. He took another magazine from his uniform and slid it in. Will walked over to where the next mutant was. This one looked up at him with a strange defiance. He seemed a little older than the others, silver-haired- but youthful for that, perhaps in his forties. His eyes were a brilliant blue-grey and his features were almost painfully handsome. He looked like some sort of angel in truth. 

 

It made Will hate him all the more. 

 

“Going to meet your master in Hell with some courage then?” Will was a little curious at this particular mutant’s seeming confidence. 

 

“I could ask you that question.” The mutant filth replied in a voice that sounded educated and also European, German maybe. The demon looked at Will with eyes that were honestly intimidating, a blue-grey storm that made him hesitate for a moment. And then something made him lose his cool and he fired off the entirety of the magazine into the mutant’s head, obliterating it utterly.

 

The stump that was left had no real resemblance to a head, blood and meat, skull and brains were scattered everywhere. 

 

“Mutants … mutants will try all matter of tricks to undermine you. This one may have had psychic powers. You must always be on your guard. If you feel even the slightest tinge of hesitation, destroy it immediately and as completely as you can.” Will took a breath. 

 

“No one said that this campaign would be easy. No one said that the mutants would not resort to every satanic power they had to fight back. We have been lucky, brothers. We have been lucky that none of us have given our lives thus far battling this most powerful enemy. But we must not fear that day if it comes. We must not hesitate for any reason. 

 

This filth must be eliminated from the planet.” 

 

Will turned towards the wreckage of the strangely defiant mutant. Will noticed something strange. There was an eye, intact, looking up at him. Will’s eyes narrowed for a moment. He reminded himself of all the gruesome things he’d seen in the past. A severed eye was hardly among the worst of him, hardly even the worst amid the carnage he’d just wrought on the mutant. 

 

Then the eye  _ moved.  _

 

_ Oh God.  _

 

Most of his compatriots were wearing the metallic armour plate of the Purifiers, which would have protected them well against an ordinary assault, though many of them had removed their helmets in their sanctuary. Will turned towards them and watched in horror as their armoured torsos collapsed in around them. He heard the men scream and the blood bubble out of their mouths profusely as their bodies were crushed under their armour. 

 

None of them could resist the strange force. 

 

They all fell, one after the other, crushed, blood oozing from shattered bodies, the stink of death suddenly ripe in the air. 

 

Instinctively, Will turned towards the disembodied eye again. The pupil of the eye narrowed and he himself felt himself knocked onto the floor, pinned by his own armour, unable to move. He heard a horrific noise from above as the thick metal plate which divided the church above them from the basements was split asunder, showering sharp pieces of wood and metal everywhere.    
  
The worst of it missed him, but he felt a stab of pain as a piece of jagged metal slashed his head, only an inch or two from his eye. The split in the metallic plate turned into a straight and even hole and a man descended from them, a terrifying being in crimson and purple armour. Will could not see the face so well, but he could see the eyes. The same eyes that had belonged to the defiant mutant with the face of an angel. The same eye that had moved just before his men had been killed. 

 

Will felt himself be jerked up by an invisible force, so he could see where the mutants had been- but now they were gone, all traces of them vanished.  _ An illusion. A satanic illusion. My God. Jesus.  _ Now he felt fear, couldn’t help but feel real terror as he beheld that the whole thing had been an elaborate ruse concocted by the mutant enemy. The only blessing was that the Reverend Stryker and the other real heads of the organization weren’t here. No matter what happened to him, the movement would continue and endure. 

 

“Behold, fool, behold the consequences of your actions.” The demon- perhaps the actual Devil himself, Will could not be sure, but what other being could manifest such power- jerked him upwards by the same invisible force and showed him the ruined bodies of his comrades, their crushed torsos, blood and other things bubbling up from mouths that had screamed in their final moments. “Your follower’s blood lies upon you as surely as the blood of the mutants that you have slain.” 

 

“You have no power over our souls …” Will managed to gasp. “Kill me, then. But know that many will come after me. I am but a martyr. Let my death inspire a movement of millions to crush your cursed kind forever.” He wished that he could spit on the archdemon floating above him, but he knew he’d never reach him. Will’s hand reached desperately for his gun, but that weapon too, was seized out of his grasp and went floating in front of him. 

 

“Perhaps not.” The archdemon replied, lifting Will bodily off of the floor and ascending through the church with him. “But I do not need your immortal soul.” They continued floating upwards, Will completely powerless to do anything about it.  _ Jesus, give me the strength to die with courage. Watch over the people I love and see to it that our work is complete. Speed our souls to Heaven so that we may fight at Your side.”  _

 

The archdemon, if he could hear Will’s prayers, seemed to pay them no mind as he floated up, upwards, until the oxygen was thin and Will could hardly breath. They stopped for a moment and Will could then clearly see that this ‘demon’ was, truly, a mortal mutant.  _ He’s put on an oxygen mask.  _ Up close, he could see that the crimson and purple clothes appeared to be some sort of armour.  _ That means, powerful as he is, he can be killed.  _

 

“We will destroy you, fiend.” Will managed to gasp out, though the thin air made speaking a real burden. “I promise you, my brothers and sisters will find you and destroy you and all your evil kind.” 

 

“Is that what you believe?” The mutant replied. “Look down.” 

 

Will couldn’t help it, for some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he looked down at the church, which below him was seemingly being sucked into the Earth. At the same time, a great conflagration was starting over it, a great inferno. The combined effect made it look like the church they had organized under look like it was being swallowed up by the mouth of Hell. Which, perhaps, it was. But even if his men burned physically in Hell, their souls would be inviolate. 

 

“Kill me, mutant.” Will suddenly snarled, with ferocious and hopeless defiance. 

 

“What, and fulfill your fantasies of martyrdom? No.” The mutant replied with a cultured, European-accented voice. “Your punishment must be far more severe than that.” The mutant held out his fist and squeezed and the metal in his armour groaned and twisted, twisting Will’s body along with it. The pain was unbelievable, unbearable. A sudden spike of agony hit him in his upper back-  _ my armour, it just, oh God.  _

 

He couldn’t feel his limbs anymore. 

 

“My name is Magneto. Remember it. Tell it to your masters.” 

 

“Kill me! Kill me you evil bastard!” Will tried to spit, tried to scream every insult that came to mind, but he continued to float gently down towards the ground as Magneto floated away. 

 

_ Somehow, I promise you, you demonic fiend, I will come back and I will kill you. I promise you that much.  _


	42. Piotr IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piotr has a talk with his mother. 
> 
> Hints about future plot directions are given.

Piotr poured two cups of strong tea from the samovar, as he and his mother sat looking out over the extensive grounds of the Mansion. The Institute itself was a grand place, which apparently reminded Betsy more than a little of her home back in England- the Braddocks had a grand manor in the southeast of, according to her, approximately equal size. It suggested a level of wealth that Piotr had no real ability to comprehend. 

 

“What do you think?” Piotr asked her mother as he passed the tea towards her. Sonia Rasputin was, by most people’s reckoning, still an attractive woman, tall and slender, of mixed Cossack and Tartar ancestry, as opposed to the Siberian Russian that his father, Nikolai Rasputin had been. He wondered if Betsy had expected a  _ baba-  _ his mother was anything but. She had been a surgeon back home, specifically trained in trauma surgery. 

 

“I think that there are good people here.” His mother replied, adding a little sugar to the tea before taking a sip. “Everyone seems very kind. I do not like having to rely on their kindness, though.” She laughed softly, a little bitterly. 

 

“Professor Xavier says that he may be able to get things in order so you can work.” Piotr replied, sipping his own tea. “It is not like Russia here- they pay surgeons huge amounts of money. If you could work in your field, you would be wealthy.” It was an astonishing notion to him, but it was true. If his mother could work in her field, even for a short while, she would not need to rely on anyone else, except, vitally, for protection. 

 

“I’ll have to hit the books.” His mother laughed again, a little less bitterly. “And work on my English.” It was, by most standards, excellent. He knew that many of the people here were surprised by how good their English had been. His mother had learned English in the dying days of the Soviet Union and in the lean times that followed, it had been that skill more than her medical training that had kept food on the table. 

 

Sonia Rasputin looked over at her son for a long moment and raised her eyebrow. “We could, of course, talk about this endlessly. I’d much rather talk about your new friend Elisabeth. How long have you known her?” 

 

Piotr blushed pretty deeply- he could practically hear the quotation marks around ‘friend’ when his mother spoke. “Not long. We met when I came to America.” Actually, it had been a little after that. He wasn’t quite sure how to present their relationship to his mother. He couldn’t really say they were just friends- not after that night they’d spent together at her apartment. It would also be wrong to say that they were boyfriend and girlfriend- that implied a commitment that didn’t really exist. 

 

“I suppose I’m being prying.” His mother clucked. “And I’m probably holding some very old-fashioned notions about how young people are in the twenty-first century. If you two are still … friendly after a time, though, I’ll have to find a space for her to come and have a Russian meal.” 

 

Piotr wasn’t sure how Betsy would like that, she didn’t seem like the sort of woman one would bring home to one’s mother. In fact, honestly, that was part of her appeal- not that he dared say that to her. 

 

“Oh dear, look what I’m doing to you, you poor boy.” Sonia smiled. “You seem to be happy, though- at least happier.” She paused for a moment and her face became a little more serious and reflective. “Life has been very unkind to you, Piotr.” She cast her gaze down at the table. “With your father passing and struggling so much to keep us together, I never really saw … how Mikhail treated you. Or how you handled the loss.” 

 

Piotr took a deep breath- if talking about Betsy embarrassed him somewhat, bringing up Mikhail sucked the oxygen from the room. She’d just mentioned him, apologetically, but his heart rate rose and his muscles tensed. Mikhail was dead, murdered in a mob conflict, but most nights, in his dreams, Piotr still remembered him. Remembered big, cruel hands and cruel lips speaking cruel words and even crueller eyes. He wanted nothing more than to forget the bastard, to bury his memory like they’d buried his body in the cold, unforgiving ground. 

 

“Mother.” Piotr couldn’t do this. Not right now. “Please. I don’t want to talk about that now.” 

 

Sonia nodded sadly and they sat there in less than comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke. “Illyana likes it very well here. Though now that she’s found that piano, I’m concerned that nobody will sleep. You know how she is.” 

 

“Yes. She wants to be a Broadway star.” Piotr couldn’t help but smile at that. Since she was little, Illyana had always wanted to be a singer or an actress and now that they were in America and realized that an opportunity existed to be both, she was virtually obsessed with it. “Actually … Betsy helped me find a birthday present for her. Tickets to that show she’s always been talking about.” 

 

“You’re a brave man. You do realize that she won’t stop singing any of those songs for months solid, yes?” Sonia smiled faintly at Piotr, teasingly. The truth was that Illyana was actually a remarkably good singer and that nobody really minded her playing the piano incessantly because unlike almost everyone else at the Institute, she could actually play the instrument. His mother got a thoughtful look on her face again, as if something had just come into her mind. “Piotr. What are they making you do here? You are too old for school like many of these others and you are not a scientist like Dr. McCoy.” 

 

Piotr took a breath and another sip of his tea. “I can take art courses through the Institute and earn credits from Empire State University.” He knew, however, that wasn’t what his mother was really talking about. “I was asked if I was willing to help with special tasks. Helping mutants who need protection. Bringing mutants to the school.” 

 

“...” Sonia set down her teacup. “I see. And you agreed.” 

 

“I did.” Piotr replied. 

 

“And when does it end? When do you stop being beholden to these great and powerful people?” Sonia sighed sadly. “I keep dreaming of the day when you don’t need to serve anyone. That we aren’t-”

 

“Mother.” Piotr insisted. “No one made me do anything. I was not obligated to do so, except by my own conscience.” 

 

“Because you feel you owe them?” His mother didn’t seem to understand. He supposed he understood why she didn’t, but he hated the notion that she thought him as little more than a servant. 

 

“No.” Piotr insisted. “No. Because I am tired of being used as a tool by evil men. I have a power and I want to use it for something good for once. Because I want to be a part of what this school stands for, because I want to help people as I have been helped.” 

 

“You sound like your father.” Sonia Rasputin smiled a little sadly. “He believed so much in the old Soviet Union and in the ideals of communism. He was probably the last authentic socialist in the entire country. I loved that about him.” But Piotr knew that she had never felt that way, really, that she’d always been far more concerned with pragmatic concerns of making ends meet, of keeping the family together. Especially when he’d died in the accident. 

  
Piotr knew that she was probably as worried as she was proud at the notion that he seemed to be his father’s son. The old Soviet Union had not been kind to idealists, and Russia after the fall had been even worse. In his limited experience, it seemed like America was perhaps even more dangerous than both of them. In Russia, one knew straightforwardly that idealism was a fool’s crusade. Idealists in Russia left or were crushed by the weight of oppression. America held out glorious promises and took too many of them away. 

 

“And Elisabeth? What is she doing here?” Sonia asked. It was hard to tell if she was skeptical or genuinely curious. It was true, certainly, that Betsy had no need of money to maintain herself- her father would send her whatever she needed and she could always resume her modelling work. 

 

“She will be doing the same as me. I believe she is taking some classes as well.” Piotr knew that for Betsy, a not insignificant motivation was always avoiding boredom, that and keeping a healthy distance between her and a family that, while it seemed to love her in a formal sense, had always seemed more than a little unsure of what to actually do with her. 

 

“Remind me why we’re having tea with this conversation.” Sonia laughed. “It would go much better with some cold vodka. Maybe Elisabeth would join us then. She seems like a girl who appreciates a good drink.” Sonia sipped her tea. “Not that you don’t make a lovely cup of tea, Piotr, but tea only does so much.” 

 

“We’re having tea because I have to wake up early tomorrow for training. And then we need to take Illyana shopping because she doesn’t have enough clothes and things. None of us do.” They’d left with little more than essentials. One of the few things that had been positive about his time with the Hellfire Club was that the pay had been good. As it happened, he’d been paid the day after he left. Presumably they hadn’t been able to cut him off immediately. “It’s going to be a busy day.” He left out that he’d be flying to Africa with Scott and Jean in short order. Apparently there was a mutant there who could control the weather. 

 

“How practical.” Sonia laughed softly. “That’s your mother speaking. And the evening? Do you have plans?” 

 

“Well, actually … yes.” Piotr was probably blushing. “Elisabeth and I are going out. I’m not sure doing precisely what. It is a surprise. This weekend I go out and do things that she enjoys best and the next weekend it is my turn.” 

 

“Well, that sounds lovely. Downright romantic if you ask me.” Sonia smiled. “You really do like her, don’t you? You’re blushing like a schoolboy. Which you aren’t too far from. It’s easy to forget because you’re so big, but you’re so young.” She laughed. “Not that you want to hear that. I promise, I won’t say that around her. If you ever formally introduce me to her.” 

 

“If … things become more serious, I will.” Piotr promised. Right now, though, it admittedly wasn’t high on his list of priorities. 

 

His mother suddenly seemed interested in something in the distance. “I think, perhaps, that Elisabeth may not be the only girl who likes you around here.” She spoke in a low voice. “One of the girls at the Institute has been watching you for the last few minutes. Don’t look back. The poor thing might die of- or vanish into the stairs.” She looked started for a moment but then laughed. “I am not … quite used to that. It was strange enough getting used to your being a mutant. Here, I am … the only person who is not a mutant?” 

 

“Went through the stairs? That would be … Kitty, I think.” He looked towards where she had seemingly vanished. “Perhaps she was just curious about the new people here.” 

 

“Or maybe she was astonished at what a handsome young man had appeared at her school. You don’t realize what a good-looking boy you are. Maybe it is for the best, though it doesn’t ever keep the girls away from you.” Sonia grinned and laughed. “And now you’re going from red to purple. Oh, I’m sorry, Piotr, you’re just so easy to tease.” 

 

“Maybe I should introduce you to Elisabeth.” Piotr rolled his eyes a little, though he could feel a blush on his cheeks. “She also likes to tease me. Apparently I am an easy target.” 

 

“Dreadfully so. Though I’m not sure I want to know just how she teases you.” Sonia looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“Mother!” Piotr blurted out. There was nothing he wanted to talk about less with his mother than his sex life, except possibly hers. Both things were never to be discussed for any reason. “I can’t believe you just said that!” 

 

“Ha! Such a teenager.” Sonia laughed but then suddenly looked sad. “So young and yet burdened so much. You should be free to go to your art classes and see Elisabeth and not worry about these things that happen in the world. You should be able to have fun and not be responsible for anyone.” 

 

“I don’t know if I would like that so much.” Piotr replied sincerely. “I like taking care of people. My life is looking good now, better than it has in a long time.” 

 

“In a long time, Piotr? Or ever?” Sonia asked softly. 

 

“Ever. I am glad to be away from Russia, to be away from gangsters and evil men. From corruption. Here I can be a good man. I have a chance to do something important. And yes, to have fun as well.” Piotr finished his tea. “I should get to bed. Busy day tomorrow.” 

 

“Of course. And unlike your sister, you probably won’t be playing games on your tablet until three in the morning.” Sonia shook her head. “That girl, you’d think she was born here in America. She’s taken to it like a duck to water.” 

 

“She has.” But Piotr honestly liked America better too. Russia perhaps stirred the soul, but there was little to really love there. “Good night, mother.” He smiled at her and started heading up the stairs to his room. 

 

Piotr opened the door that lead to the room they’d given him and walked inside. It was a pretty large room, with an attached bathroom- fully equal to the size of most apartments back home in Russia.  _ It is an amazing life that people lead here. This place really does feel like a palace.  _ He undressed and slipped into a bed that was as comfortable as any he’d ever slept in before and certainly larger- there was ample room for even his frame in it. Back home, he’d always had to sleep with his toes hanging off the bed. 

 

Piotr pulled the sheets over himself and settled in. He couldn’t help but wonder what Betsy was up to, but he knew better than to try and seek her out when he actually needed sleep. Still, though, it would have been nice to have someone there with him. Beds were always more pleasant with company.  _ Tomorrow night, most likely, though. Tonight, I actually do need sleep.  _

 

For the first time in a long time, it honestly looked like things were looking up for him.  _ Perhaps, at long last, I can make my father proud and be the sort of man he was. Perhaps my family can be safe and provided for and I can do the same for myself as well. Perhaps I can use my gifts for something good instead of helping bad people.  _

 

It was with those thoughts in his head that Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin went to bed. 


	43. The Faithful Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'alls were lining up for Tessa, right? Right? 
> 
> Anyway, Tessa and Senator Kelly have dinner. Plans are discussed. Insights are had.

“Sebastian sends his regards and thank you.” Tessa said warmly as Robert pulled out the seat for her. “He would, of course, much rather be having dinner here with us, but the schedule for Operation Wideawake is very demanding. I’m told that everything proceeds very well, though. Prototypes should be ready for testing by late spring.” 

 

Robert grinned broadly. “I’m certain he has everything well in hand back there. I suppose it’s up to us to make sure we hold down the fort here in Washington. Congress is looking supportive. We should be ready to really push the Mutant Registration Act. How’s the President doing?” 

 

Tessa smiled slightly, an artfully designed Mona Lisa smile that Robert clearly had to struggle not to be completely entranced by. Emma would regularly simply trample over men’s minds with her psychic powers. Tessa’s own abilities in that field were far more modest, but she’d learned they were often unnecessary. She’d had no difficulty whatsoever in steering Robert in the necessary direction. 

 

“In the aftermath of what happened in Washington, he’s been thoroughly convinced of the necessity of what we’re doing. He still has some reservations about specific elements of the Mutant Registration Act, but in the whole, he’s on our side now. We could probably afford to compromise on some of them if need be- he won’t push too hard, because public support will be overwhelmingly in favor of the act.” 

 

The President was altogether a more formidable mind than Robert’s- a man who was not particularly easily swayed by feminine charms, a naturally cautious man who had an admittedly impressive ability to retain his composure in difficult situations. It was considerably more interesting to work on him, to convince him of the merits of their plan through logical argument. The whole thing was made more interesting by the fact that she couldn’t telepathically manipulate him if she tried- the President wore a psi blocker at all times. 

 

“That’s all well and good, but there’s the problem of these Purifiers.” Robert sighed as a server came to the table. “Their barbarous violence is having a real effect. I’ve talked to my constituents back home. They’re overwhelmingly against them, as they should be.” 

 

“Assure them that the Mutant Registration Act provides a framework of law and order, for legitimate authorities to act as necessary to ensure the safety and security of all.” The waiter came to the table. “The Leeuwin Estate Chardonnay.” Nobody had ever accused her of being a cheap date- she was quite unabashed about her taste for the finer things in life. The waiter, for his part, was visibly impressed. There would be a rise in efficiency for the rest of the meal. 

 

Robert for his part ordered a serviceable but markedly inferior Cabernet Sauvignon- if he’d been wise enough to consult her, she could have selected something much better for him at a lower price point. Robert Kelly had risen in social status considerably since he was a young man- in that way, he had a lot in common with Sebastian. Tessa, on the other hand, had been born into the elite- her family had rubbed shoulders with the Braddocks back in England and she distinctly remembered ‘playdates’ with Elisabeth. 

 

It had been Tessa who had quietly urged Sebastian not to give into Emma’s ire over Piotr and his family going over to Xavier’s. There was too much to lose right now to give into an urge for vengeance- they didn’t necessarily need Charles Xavier’s friendship, but things would proceed far more smoothly if he didn’t regard the Club as an enemy. An additional factor was that Elisabeth’s father controlled the London Hellfire Club and would not easily tolerate any sort of sanction on his daughter. 

 

Tessa wasn’t going to completely deny that it was also a touch amusing to observe Emma’s impotent outrage. More than a touch, really, and thankfully, with her flawless memory, she was able to recall that precise memory any time she felt stressed.  _ Emma Frost. The pawn who thinks herself a queen.  _ It was probably a little improper to engage in such shameless schadenfraude, but then again, it was probably a little improper to have ordered a whole bottle of very expensive wine on the Senator’s expense account. 

 

“Of course. Law and order always does well, even with all the talk about criminal justice reform.” Robert smiled at her, shyly, like a schoolboy who was contemplating whether he had the courage to ask a girl to the junior prom. 

 

Tessa didn’t need any telepathic powers or heightened awareness of body language to know that he had a hopeless little infatuation with her. It had all been heightened that one afternoon when the assassin- a dupe under the control of the Hellfire Club, had attempted to kill him and was slaughtered. He’d got to feel protective of her then and if she’d learned one thing about men, it was that they loved to feel protective of attractive women. In their reptile brains, they imagined that it was one step closer to possession. 

 

“We need to be very insistent on that messaging, Robert.” She reached over to brush his arm slightly and widened her eyes- a cheap ploy of vulnerability that made her want to take a very long shower, but was nonetheless effective. Robert considered himself a powerful man in Washington, but in reality, he was a man who was ruled by his fear and by an almost compulsive need to be led. “There’s going to be some difficult times ahead. Have you heard about the attack in New York?” 

Senator Kelly hadn’t heard of the attack in New York, of course, because Kelly had been mired in meetings since early in the day and the events had just broken on the newscast. Tessa had a discreet implant inside her brain which allowed her to use one of the channels of her mind- she had, in essence, twelve independently operating minds. She had received the intelligence from the Hellfire Club’s information gathering agency just a few minutes ago. 

 

“No … what has happened?” Robert’s eyebrow went up. 

 

“There’s been an attack on one of the suspected Purifier-aligned churches in New York City. The building was completely destroyed.” Tessa forced herself to shudder slightly, but in reality, if she was shivering at all, it would be in delight. She could only hope that Erik had made those bastards suffer. “A mutant was seen rising above the ruins.” There would be images on the news now. Tessa withdrew her phone from her bag and swiftly linked to a broadcast of the events, passing it over to Kelly. 

 

Robert watched quietly for a moment. “My God. This … this is exactly why we need this law, Tessa. To prevent madness like this happening. Two different factions of terrorists fighting each other in American cities.” Like many other fundamentally insecure people, Robert Kelly had the tendency to speak as if he was arguing the merits of his views, even to people he knew agreed. 

 

The wine arrived, just in the nick of time and it really was good stuff- a little fruit-forward like New World wines tended to be, gentle acidity, notes of pear and mango, alongside floral and spice ones. She would have preferred to be drinking it in a hot bath, or even better yet, with Sebastian kneeling between her thighs. It wouldn’t do, however, to dream idly of things that weren’t. It was important to manage the Senator and she’d always been very efficient in discharging the tasks set before her. 

 

“Very disturbing to be sure, but the solutions are coming. The President is on our side now- there will be quibbling over individual points of the Mutant Registration Act, but the law will pass soon enough if we work together.” Tessa leaned forward a little. “This will be a landmark, Robert. People will remember this Act of yours. How you managed to convince a Republican Congress and a Democratic President to act together in good faith. They’ll remember how you forged a real bipartisan consensus. A uniter. Your name is going to be on their lips when they look forward for a new President, you know.

 

Have you considered that, Robert?”  _ Or are you too busy looking down my dress to even listen to what I’m saying?  _ Tessa fought down a tinge of annoyance. He was trying to be subtle about it, which made it even more so. The notion that she wouldn’t know that he was ogling her was hideously insulting to her intelligence. He must have realized on some level he was caught out, though, because his cheeks changed colour a little and he suddenly looked upwards. 

 

“President?” Kelly’s eyes opened widely, though she could tell that the thought delighted him secretly, appealed to his insecurity. “You think so, Tessa?” 

 

“I do. People are frustrated at the partisan nature of Congress. There’s two ways that someone could appeal to them. Firstly as an outsider- which of course, is not an option open to you. The second, however, is as a man with a strong enough vision to make things  _ work.  _ You’re also well-positioned ideologically to appeal to general election voters. The passage of the Mutant Registration Act and the imposition of law and order on an increasingly lawless situation? A monumental accomplishment. 

 

Of course, we’re a few years out from all that now.” Tessa smiled warmly at him. “You’ve got plenty of time to consider Presidential ambitions in the meantime. I cannot say the same about our food, though. That waiter will be positively demanding that we choose our first courses.” Tessa laughed softly. “A little test of your decisiveness, I suppose.” 

 

Robert laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to actually look at this menu then.” It was clear that opening it, he was more than a little lost. He was a fairly typical all-American man, used to steaks and burgers. No doubt he didn’t recognize many of the items on the menu. 

 

“Have you had  _ foie gras,  _ Robert?” Tessa asked softly. She was quite certain he’d enjoy it- she liked it as well, but she was more interested in the oyster plate for the time being. 

 

“Isn’t that goose liver?” He sounded like a boy whose mother was trying to convince him of the merits of broccoli. No doubt he was that type of boy when he was growing up. She imagined that it was partially the peculiar demands of American electoral politics that had ruined his palate. He’d probably gone for stretches of months at a time eating nothing but barbecue. 

 

“It is, yes.” Tessa raised an eyebrow slightly. “Have I ever given you bad advice in the past, Robert?” A shameless appeal to an imagined intimacy. Really, they’d only worked together a short time and had a number of significant conversations that could be counted on fingers- but Robert wanted badly to think of them as great friends. “It is about as decadent and rich as food can get. You’ll love it, I promise.” 

 

It seemed such a simple thing, suggesting a starter for Robert, but it was all part of the plan, which was to emphasize how valuable she was, how trustworthy. Without ever stopping to really consider it, he would become utterly dependent on her. That, in some ways, was Tessa’s greatest talent. The ability to make powerful men utterly reliant on her. Even a genuinely clever, ambitious and dominant man like Sebastian Shaw wasn’t immune to that- she’d had to work harder and longer on him, but in the end, she was probably the only person in the world that he honestly relied on, possibly the only person he trusted. 

 

And if she had their trust and if they depended upon her for the success of their ambitions, they were easy to channel towards what  _ she  _ considered important. There was an impossibly delicate balance to be maintained, between mutants and humans, and between the various factions of mutantkind that were forming. It required an extremely intricate series of suggestions and initiatives, supporting and assisting one side and then the other. 

 

There would be no glory for her, all of the notoriety, all the fame and infamy would be placed on the shoulders of others around her. Tessa would remain relatively anonymous to the wider world, a footnote in history at best. It was true that she would never be able to take credit for the accomplishments that she’d helped bring apart, but it was also true that she’d be largely insulated from judgement. If she needed to change her allegiances, it would not be overly difficult. It was as easy for her to play the victim as it was the faithful assistant. 

 

Tessa was far too valuable an asset for anyone with any sense to decline, no matter how much blood was on her hands. While the great men danced and fought and chased their ambitions, she would remain, quietly directing one or the other of them to do what was necessary. To prevent a general war. To maintain the incredibly delicate balance, the balance which allowed civilization to continue in whatever precise form it took. 

 

She remembered a few years ago, in the sweaty aftermath of deliciously forbidden sex, being asked her views about the coming public announcement of the existence of mutants. Tessa had hedged her reply at the time, letting Erik take the tempo of the conversation, the afterglow loosening his tongue. Tessa was quite sure she’d learned more about his actual ideals from that single encounter than Charles Xavier had learned in decades of friendship. 

 

_ He is a force that will have to be managed carefully. And taken down if necessary.  _ Tessa would be a little sad, though, if that became necessary. He was too dynamic a presence on the world stage to waste unnecessarily, and besides, she had mostly good memories of their brief tryst.  _ I need to direct his attention away from America, though. He’s got other places to be, perhaps not right now, but soon enough.  _

 

Tessa knew that she’d also have to find means of getting into the confidence of Charles Xavier- more than anything, she wished to maintain relatively friendly relations between the Hellfire Club and the Xavier Institute. She’d managed to convince Sebastian to consider the affair with Piotr a minor inconvenience, which really, it was, rather than a grave insult. It also had the neat effect of neutralizing Betsy as a potential major player in the affairs of the Hellfire Club. 

 

“Of course not.” Robert smiled and laughed. “I should know better and just do as you suggest.”  _ You laugh, but it’s nearer the mark than you’ve been all evening.  _

 

“You won’t regret it.” Tessa grinned at him. They both placed their orders and the waiter topped up their wineglasses. She could feel a slight buzz already- as a fairly small woman, it didn’t take too much to affect her. However, this wasn’t a particularly difficult or dangerous little mission. She could face it blind drunk and still come out perfectly. “It looks like everything, then, is progressing smoothly. Operation Wideawake is close to activation. The Mutant Registration Act is playing well in Washington. I don’t think Sebastian would kill either of us if we ignored business for a short while.” 

 

“The taxpayers might, though.” Robert joked, as if Tessa didn’t remember that the meal was on his tab. She supposed it was a little elitist of her that she rather enjoyed the American taxpayer indirectly picking up the bill for dinner. Then again, she’d never in her life claimed to be egalitarian. She was working for their benefit after all- if she somehow failed, there would be open war and the nation would be a smoking ruin. 

 

Surely they could pick up a few dinners, considering all that. 

 

“Every President needs a little scandal. The public likes a good grovel every now and again.” It was something that she wished she could experience more often- having people openly submit to her, but hers was a power that was wielded quietly, behind the scenes. Besides, the men she really enjoyed were powerful alpha males who would never permit themselves to beg. Tessa laughed strategically, manipulating the angle of her face and ambient light to give a mildly flirtatious shine to her eyes. 

 

“Tessa.” Robert was turning red again, pretending to be horrified, but in reality deeply flattered by the suggestion that he become President.  _ He loves it. He won’t stop thinking about it tonight. He’ll go home to his wife and all he’ll think about is that I said he might make President. And that’s it.  _

 

_ It is literally that easy to change history.  _

 

Tessa sipped her wine again. The food should be arriving soon- she was getting hungry and she loved oysters- and they were promising Glidden Point oysters. And Robert would just have to sit there and watch her eat them, drinking the briny liquor out from them before sliding the whole oyster into her mouth. It was probably all a little over-the-top for what she actually needed to accomplish, but she could afford to indulge herself a little with the Senator. 

 

He’d still end up doing what she wanted. They always did, because the alternative was nothing less than Armageddon. 


	44. The Lord of Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious woman sweeps into the Hellfire Club and nothing will ever be the same again. 
> 
> The final chapter of Part I of Rise of the Mutants

Sebastian Shaw lounged in the grand throne installed in the Great Court of the Hellfire Club, watching the assembled Inner Circle and their Knights arrive, some of the most powerful men and women in the world. It would have been fitting to have had Tessa there, but she was busy in Washington, furthering his influence there. No doubt Robert Kelly was following her around like a lapdog.  _ That, Robert is how sad you are- I don’t need to control you personally. I can set my women to do it for me.  _

 

“Esteemed members of the Inner Circle, ladies and gentlemen.” Harry Leland, his oldest friend and ally in the Hellfire Club- a man who had once thought himself Sebastian’s mentor but had quickly adapted to being a useful servant. “It is my signal honor to be able to make the opening toast. To our great Lord Paramount, greatests of the Lords Cardinal, the Black King of the Hellfire Club and my personal friend- Sebastian Shaw. Long may he reign.” 

 

Most of the assembled elites raised their glasses and drank lustily to Sebastian- Donald Pierce, a man who Sebastian had essentially rebuilt after a horrific accident which had ruined his entire body, was notably slower in doing so. Sebastian knew that Donald Pierce hated him and would have liked nothing more than his destruction, but Pierce was also aware that he lacked support in the Club. There was little threat to him from that angle. 

 

“A fine toast, Harry.” Emma Frost was the next to stand- an endlessly ambitious girl who was forever scheming to further her own power and influence, but who had not yet crossed the line into rebellion. Sebastian knew that it may come some day that he would have to crush her like he’d crushed enemies in the past, but for the moment, she had brought a restless energy to the Club’s operations and furthermore, a pleasing occasional companion in his bed. For the moment, she respected and feared him enough. 

 

“If I may make the second toast, I wish to salute the entire Hellfire Club and its glorious Inner Circle. In the last months, our goals, the sacred mission that our Black King has given us, has come closer than ever to fruition. Long may he reign, and long may the Hellfire Club be the power behind the thrones of the world!” She raised her glass in a suitably melodramatic fashion and the assembled congregants drank deep to that. 

 

After Emma’s toast, there were another few rounds of toast amongst the elite, before Sebastian himself spoke for the first time. Unlike the others, who were concerned with presenting themselves as perfect aristocrats, Sebastian lounged over his oversized throne, his attire, while immaculately made and cut, deliberately put on in a slightly slapdash fashion. Amid the gaudy finery and stiff-necked politesse, his relatively casual air demanded attention. 

 

Sebastian wanted to remind people that he was comfortable here on his throne, that he didn’t fear any of the others around him. He raised his hand for a moment, asking for silence. He didn’t need to shout or yell. Everyone went silent as soon as they noticed the subtle gesture.  _ They’ve become accustomed to my authority.  _ Of course, Sebastian was always on the lookout for potential sedition, but the projection of complete confidence was important. 

 

“We stand on the crossroads of destiny. The Hellfire Club has put its energies towards many purposes in its long and illustrious history, but more than anything else, it serves those men and women who serve it. We are the true inheritors of the world and whether we rule from great thrones or behind the shadows, make no mistake, we are the masters. 

 

One of the greatest days in our august order is when we are able to inaugurate new members, to bring a worthy individual into our Inner Circle.” Sebastian got up now, standing and walking down the steps of the throne he had built for himself. “Today, we have found such a worthy person. A woman who has great power and charisma, someone who has been recommended to me by many worthy members of the Club, including the head of the Club’s establishment in Europe.” 

 

His eyes cast about for the man. “As it happens, the Lord Cardinal of the Hellfire Club’s operations in Europe is here to speak to this newest member of the Hellfire Club.” Friedrich von Roehm was a tall, stout man with a truly impressive set of sideburns who looked stolen straight from the Wilhelmine age. He had proven himself an effective operator, however, and had been rewarded by having the Cardinal position of Europe move from its traditional location in Paris to Berlin. 

 

“Ah yes, thank you, your Majesty.” Friedrich looked around at the assembled members of the Hellfire Club for a moment. “It is my great privilege to be here, in the world headquarters of our august organization.” It was clear that the man had put some effort into the speech. Sebastian knew from speaking to him that English was well down on his list of languages. The accent was thick, but thankfully understandable. “This lady that I bring forward is one who possesses vast power, both personally and in the shadows. Were I to tell all to you about her, even men and women such as you would struggle to believe it. 

 

Were I to tell you of all her great feats and accomplishments, why, even Miss Frost here would be starting to get old.” There was a little laughter from the assembled group, but it was clear that they were getting just a touch impatient. Sebastian, too, wanted von Roehm to get to the point and simply bring the woman in. 

 

“Perhaps it would be best for me to say, that she is already here.” Friedrich gestured towards the shadowy doors of the Club, which burst open of their own accord as a shadowy form moved across the floor, indistinct at first but then forming into a vaguely humanoid shape and then into a tall, beautiful woman in black- dressed entirely in black and with long black hair that flowed down the entirety of her back, black lips that curved into an enigmatic smile and completely black eyes that seemed to suck light into them. 

 

She was beautiful, certainly, more than all but a tiny handful of women that Sebastian had known, but there was something wild and terrible about her. He found his heart beating slightly faster as she materialized- both excited and a little intimidated, somehow, by this strange woman. He fought down the feeling. It was beyond silly- he was perhaps the most powerful man in the world. What did he have to fear from this woman? 

 

Sebastian put his hands together and clapped a few times. “A most impressive entry, madam. Not precisely what the protocol calls for.” It was a mild rebuke, but one that had to be said, even if personally, he was sort of impressed with her style. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was similarly bold in the bedroom. 

 

“Sometimes protocol is overrated.” The woman spoke with a slightly peculiar accent that reminded him of French or Italian in part, but not really entirely like either. It sounded ancient somehow. It sounded strange to even think it, but it sounded like the type of accents that Romans would have had- actual Romans, as opposed to the British accents they always received in movies. “And time-consuming. I’m told you’re a man who appreciates both initiative and efficiency.” 

 

_ She’s done her homework, I see. Impressive.  _

 

“Indeed, I am.” Sebastian offered a wolfish grin. “Since your sponsor has not seen fit to tell us your name, perhaps you can.” Friedrich seemed to be totally mesmerized in her presence, as if she were some sort of living goddess.  _ I should have suspected as such. She’s not been put forwards as a promising servant of us, but as his master. Not necessarily damning, that, but something I must be cautious about.  _ He was beginning to wish that Tessa were here, because she would have a more cogent analysis of the situation.  _ I can’t have her everywhere though, and some King I am if I can’t make decisions myself.  _

 

“I am the Lady Selene Gallio, once of the House of the same name.” She looked directly at Sebastian, her voice practically purring. “You may, of course, refer to be directly as Selene. The rest of this assembled company may address me as Her Majesty, the Black Queen of the Hellfire Club.”

 

_ A truly bold claim that. No mention was made of crowning a Black Queen. That would make her second only to me, and that mostly by my position of Lord Paramount of the global Hellfire Club.  _

 

“No doubt you are wondering with what grounds I make such a bold claim to power.” Selene gestured grandly and wisps of darkness similar to what she had used before now swirled into empty chairs, into several objects in the room, which animated about her in a swirling cloud. “I bring to the Hellfire Club power. The power to drink life like wine and bestow that life energy as I choose. The power to make slaves of men without their knowing it, a thing more sure and lasting than even telepathy.” 

 

“All very impressive, if true.” Sebastian replied, deliberately sounding non-committal. It would be a ridiculous spectacle to have this inauguration turned into some sort of confrontation between them. “We do not merely require personal, superhuman powers from our elite, however. Most of us in the Inner Circle control companies that are worth billions of dollars, command respect and influence. Right now, all of Washington marches to my beat. What qualifies you as a Black Queen?” 

 

“Knowledge.” Selene replied. “Knowledge of the past and future that you do not have. Friedrich, darling. Show them.” 

 

Friedrich placed a small device on the table which Sebastian recognized as a holographic emitter- one of his own design, actually. The device projected a large display of what looked like the Egyptian sands, Mayan jungles and other landscapes and then revealed what looked like some manner of ruins hidden under them, all in a similar configuration. 

 

“And more than anything, I can give the Hellfire Club a promise. This world that you rule from the shadows is dying. This age of history is coming to an end and soon a glorious new one will begin. We could mourn the passing of this world, or try to prop it up- or we could feast. Allow me into your exalted ranks and I promise you, that we will feast until the end of days.” 

 

She plucked a dark gem from her necklace and held it into the palm of her hand, where it promptly disappeared. Everything went dark for a second, and just as Sebastian was ready for some sort of attack, the lights returned and there was knowledge in his mind. Knowledge that Selene possessed and controlled, of a power beyond all reckoning, of great and ancient mutants who walked the Earth like gods long ago, immortals of terrifying power. 

 

Sebastian had to confess that the knowledge left him a little shaken, but he regained his composure swiftly. He smiled at Selene. 

 

“Then kneel, Lady Selene.” He would have to enjoy it- it was not likely that she would frequently do so for him again. 

 

Selene’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile and she knelt down onto the ground, looking up at him, her featureless dark eyes somehow showing amusement. She was obeying the form, but Sebastian knew that she wasn’t really submitting to him. He would have to impress upon her the necessity of following his lead, but the knowledge that she possessed could not be denied. He needed it, even at not-inconsiderable risk to his own power. 

 

Sebastian walked up to her, drawing the ceremonial sword used to swear in members of the Hellfire Club, that ebon blade that had sworn him in so many years ago, that once again had confirmed him formally as Lord Paramount and Black King in one fell swoop. He’d won this sword through right of conquest. He was prepared to work in a partnership with this woman if he needed to- but she needed to understand that this was  _ his  _ Hellfire Club. 

 

Sebastian closed the rest of the distance between the two of them, realizing that more than just being tall- there was only an inch or two between them in height. She was beautiful, but unlike Tessa, who was slender and delicate or Emma, who had made herself into the exemplar of all-American beauty, there was something wild about Selene. She didn’t seem to belong entirely of this world. 

 

“Selene Galllio, do you swear to uphold the customs, rites and duties of your new position in the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club?” He spoke in as grave and official a voice as he could. Some rituals could be safely abrogated, but this to him was a sacred thing. It was important to go through with it properly. 

 

“I do.” Selene replied, those shining black eyes never leaving his own. The entirety of the assembled lords and ladies of the Inner Circle might as well have been absent then. As far as she was concerned, he was the only other person in the room. He had to admit that he didn’t feel dissimilarly. She had an uncanny way of attracting attention. 

 

“Do you pledge your allegiance to the Hellfire Club above all other allegiances? Do you swear on your life that you shall serve none before the Inner Circle?” 

 

“I do.” Selene replied, that enigmatic smile not shifting at all. If she was lying, she was doing so seemingly flawlessly, though the featureless dark luster of her eyes would have assisted any deception. 

 

Sebastian touched one shoulder and then the other one. “Then rise, Selene Gallio and be known forevermore as the Lady Selene, Black Queen of the Hellfire Club.” 

 

“All hail Her Majesty, our Black Queen!” It was, expectedly, Friedrich that broke the silence, but soon after, the other assembled members of the Inner Circle broke out into cheers and toasts for Selene. Sebastian raised his own glass, being sure to at least appear to be part of the celebration as well. 

 

Selene for her part, was clearly and visibly in her element, receiving the applause of the assembled Inner Circle like some sort of goddess. She took a goblet and held it out to have it filled almost instantly by Harry Leland, who practically waddled over to be able to fill the goblet before Friedrich von Roehm reached it. As faintly amusing as it may have been to watch the two fat men fighting for the privilege of pouring her the wine, the sign was unmistakable. 

 

Selene would have to be watched very carefully. The knowledge and power she possessed could be harnessed to great use, but he would have to be vigilant indeed. He doubted that she would be truly content to be second fiddle for very long. One day, he would likely have to fight for his position in the Hellfire Club. He would have to be very careful about keeping as many supporters on-side as possible- Selene had one minion in the elite already. He could not afford to have her influence spread too much farther. 

 

There was something else about what she promised as well, about immortal godlike mutants. If all of what she said was true and could be taken on face value- then much of what the Hellfire Club had been built on, the complex dance of political and economic power, was essentially a lie. Whatever else happened, everyone was going to have to adapt. 

 

At the same time, however, he found himself unable to deny the world-historical power she promised. If he could wield this power for himself, perhaps he would not need to rule in the shadows after all, but openly, as the Black King of the whole world … 

 

**END PART ONE OF RISE OF THE MUTANTS**


End file.
